



































































Class ; 

Book 

Copight N®^ 


COPYKIGHT DEPOSIT. 


I 

ka . 




• « 



• L'V 

N . 



» 1 ! 


% I 


. » 




•} 


r ■ 


k ( 






‘ '.'I »V‘*J 




V*,> 


^ . ■ 




/ ' V. 









1 • I i • 

• ^ 'V ': 


•' I 


'f>' 

•' ‘.V \ 

* . ' 




2 

ft 


■f 


- ■ /: '’jl 


.♦•'■• .k_ 


I 

N ; c.j 


I ' I 







' i ' 




t 

' r 


\ 


i 


i 







I 


I 


f. 






• ■!' 

I 





Hpplctons’ 
Zoxon an& Countrg 
Xibrars 

No. 316 


A LADY’S HONOR 



t • 

A LADY’S HONOR 


^ CHRONICLE OF EVENTS IN 
THE TIME OF MARLBOROUGH 


BY 

BASS BLAKE 




NEW YORK 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
1902 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two Cowfcs RecstvED 

SEP. 27 1902 

Cof^^WHT FN'n?V 

0 'I- 

CLA^sA^XXo No. 
COPY 3.' 


FX3 

• B 


Copyright, 1902 

By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
Ail rights reserved 


Published September, 1902.' 




CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. — Cold water i 

II. — The visitor at the Red Bodice ... 22 

III. — The fight in the cellar .... 34 

IV. — My two straws are broken .... 44 

V.— First acquaintances 59 

VI. — A PLUNGE FROM A STONE JETTY ... 74 

VII. — CATHCART MAKES HAY AND BURNS HIS, FINGERS lOO 

VIII. — A COMEDY IN A BARN II3 

IX. — An old wound 130 

X.— Over the mud 144 

XI.— An occasion on which walking would have 

BEEN PREFERABLE TO DRIVING . . . l6o 

XII. — I SIT IN THE SNOW I78 

XIII. — A STRANGE ROAD I93 

XIV. — The Villa of Torre 210 

XV. — A TURN FOR THE WORSE 229 

XVI. — The tunnel 240 

XVII. — An ACCESSORY BEFORE THE FACT . . . 259 

XVIII. — Sir Peter opens his mouth .... 269 

285 

. . . . . . . 296 


XIX. — I hesitate 
XX. — She decides 


V 


I 


% 


A LADY’S HONOR 


CHAPTER I 

COLD WATER 

It is reckoned, I fancy, a difficult achieve- 
ment to fall in love with a lady whose face you 
have never seen. In many situations it may well 
be so, but my case was not one of them. My 
cousin Katherine was always in my ideas a 
figure of sweetness and grace. In early times 
she was my champion, unseen but inestimable, 
in all my fights and escapades. When, later, I 
donned my first red coat in the County Yeo- 
manry it was the thought of her bright eyes, 
though many miles away, which flushed and 
gladdened me. Still, I was in Norfolk, and she 
far distant in a sleepy German t6wn, already, I 
sometimes drove myself to consider, greatly in 
love with somebody else. 

From the cousinly letters she would write 
to me just once and again, I had, in what I 
thought a clever way, made myself a pretty 


2 


A LADY’S HONOR 


complete picture of Katherine. She was a 
small being, I decided, with dimples and an ap- 
pealing mouth. She was soft and slight, with 
ridiculously tiny feet and hands, and a waist I 
might clasp in my palms. But were I at a point 
to give evidence of these particulars, it is the 
fact that I had none; for neither my father nor 
I had ever set eyes on the lady. She had been 
sent to Belgium to school, and when her 
mother, my father’s sister, had died in England, 
she had stayed on in Antwerp, where she had 
found a home with her godmother, the Coun- 
tess Vanburton. Yet though we had never met, 
she and I, being nearly of an age, had corre- 
sponded at uneven intervals, and it was a prac- 
tice which had brought me great pleasure. 

Colonel Adam Crighton, which was my 
father’s name and title, had, through the war 
in Ireland, fought bravely under Lord Marl- 
borough (he had a fine painting of his lordship 
always hanging in his bed-chamber); but at the 
siege of Limerick he was wounded so that he 
was able to fight no mgre. I remember his 
home-coming, with his grave face, and his 
sword-arm limp and useless by his side, and he 
knew that for him there would be no more fight- 
ing. 


COLD WATER 


3 


At that time I was eighteen and he no more 
than five-and-forty, and we fell together as 
brothers might. We rode to hounds and 
chopped the fox and fenced with button foils 
(until my spirit grew too much for his left arm), 
and we spent some time in reading and devotion. 
I think, too, in these days I knew as much about 
the qualities of pasture-lands and their fitness 
for seed and sickle as many young farmers. Be- 
sides, I was greatly concerned in the breeding 
of Norfolk ponies, which was a fancy of my 
father’s. 

Thus we lived on the lands our fathers had 
held before us; spent our mornings with our 
horses and our exercise, our afternoons at our 
business, and our evenings at our dinner. 
Then my father told me of his times in Ireland, 
of the greatness of Marlborough, and of the 
glory and music of the profession of arms, until 
my heart was full of longing to do that which 
he least wished me — leave my home and fight 
for my fortune. My father was shy and grave 
by nature (two traits of character into which I 
but partly followed him), but he was a soldier 
to the buttons of his shoe; and he spent several 
hours in every day in the study of strategy in 
armies and the tactics of forces in the field. 


4 


A LADY’S HONOR 


He was greatly liked by women, but his devo- 
tion to my mother was such that after her death, 
which occurred when I was aged five, he ap- 
peared to care no more for any lady. 

My father’s brother — Dr. Peter Crighton — 
came to us for a time once in each year, and 
acted as our news-sheet in the affairs of the city. 
He told us of its riots and rumors, and of the 
wars that were to come, and of the schemes of 
the Queen and her ministers. He told us too of 
the fame and rise of Marlborough, and the great 
times that were before us. Then happened my 
twentieth birthday, and at the night’s dinner 
a discussion of my fate in life. Adam’s a man 
to-day,” my uncle commences, and I ask you 
— what is to be done with the lad? Twenty 
years aged, fine grown and active, and yet knows 
nothing good for him.” My uncle had a short 
quick way of talking, which, as he was some- 
what stout of body and lethargic of disposition, 
seemed a manner he had borrowed from an- 
other. 

Is it good he would learn in the town? ” 
my father answered quickly, divining his inten- 
tion to take me away. 

World’s wisdom, brother,” my uncle re- 
joins. 


COLD WATER 


5 


“ My boy is as wise as he needs be,” says my 
father; “ if he holds a poor head for books, he 
has a skilled sword, a sure pistol, and as brave 
a seat as any in the county.” 

“ Then,” says my uncle, “ why keep the boy 
here among the turnips? Is he not man enough 
to fight in the crowd like his fellows? Were 
you when a boy coddled like a cucumber? Tuh! 
— you don’t make men out of flour and water. 
Good Lord, brother, Adam might be a girl.” 

My boy is no girl,” says my father quickly. 

Then,” says my uncle, let him make him- 
self a man. What’s the boy for? Surely I think 
any employment better than this spud-and-bar- 
ley business. Well enough, I daresay, for a 
hobbledehoy, but for a lad of spirit, damn me, 
it is pitiful.” 

“ Then what would you make of my boy, 
brother? ” asked my father. “ I would have him 
no Court ninny, nor a peeping lawyer, nor yet a 
physician. As for a soldier, if it had pleased 
God I should still serve my king in the profes- 
sion I honor, then I had watched over his ad- 
vancement. As it is, you, having no love for 
the trade of arms, on whbm have I to look? ” 

'' What of my Lord Marlborough? ” asks 
my uncle. 


6 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Ah,” my father rejoins, “ we were together 
at Limerick when the place was stormed and 
burned; but now he is in a high place— the 
great Lord Marlborough — ” and then he falls 
into a rumination. 

Many such talks were scattered over several 
years during my uncle’s visits to our home; but 
there was always the one outcome — whether or 
not I should return with him to London. Yet 
as to my career there it was as vague as moon- 
light. Whether I should be a soldier like my 
father, or a physician like my uncle, or a courtier 
or a churchman like neither, depended together 
on my own industry and the interest they could 
command for me. 

I knew in my moods and dreams I saw my- 
self in many places. It would be a mighty 
thing, I sometimes imagined, to be consulted as 
a courtier by the Queen in council. ‘‘ What is 
the opinion of my lord so-and-so? ” I could hear 
her saying. Or in robes of scarlet and ermine, 
to hold the scale of justice betwixt great inter- 
ests in the Court of the Queen’s Bench. .Or — 
greatest of all — to charge, in the glory of bugle 
and steel, when General Marlborough should 
thrash the French through Europe. 

Silent as I kept myself, these dreams and 


COLD WATER 


7 


grand ideas my father seemed to divine, for in 
many ways he tried to disillusion me. “ Adam 
Crighton,” he would say, “ has little money, 
little influence, but a great deceit. Granted he 
has a fine arm for a fight, yet muscle wins little 
in a world of schemers.” 

“ I can learn to scheme, sir, as I have learned 
to fight,” say I. 

“ Yes, lad,” says my father sadly, “ but 
though a fighter sometimes keeps his skin, a 
schemer never keeps his character.” 

What had for its consequence a great event 
happened when I came of age. On that day 
we learned that Marlborough was again ap- 
pointed Captain-General of the army. The 
spirit of war was eager in the land; and my 
father looked woefully at the old swords which 
hung in our hall, and he called for his black 
mare. Smoker o’ Coals, which he only rode 
when his spirit was at the lowest. And that 
day my father made a journey to town. I had 
no doubt our news stirred again his sleeping 
resolutions, and he hoped perhaps' to see my 
Lord of Marlborough and offer his service (or 
mayhap his son’s) in the great wars to come. 
We knew that many swords hitherto held in 
disregard were now earnestly called for. 


8 


A LADY’S HONOR 


What passed with Marlborough I had never 
means of knowing. It is possible even that my 
father’s shyness and dislike of self-assertion pre- 
vented his seeing him at all; but this too, as it 
turned out, was a question never determined. 

My father set out in the early morning. Al- 
though he had left no word as to his return, 
it was probable, I thought, that he would be 
back that night, as he never cared to sleep 
away from home. When, however, dark came 
down, and my uncle and I sat down to our din- 
ner by ourselves a late post brought me a let- 
ter from my cousin Katherine. A post from 
Europe was always a great aflair to me, and 
doubtless that evening I thought mostly of my 
cousin and her letter, and little of my father. 
Not that there was such stuff in the note 
whereon a man, without lively imagination, 
could find satisfaction. 

“ Adam dear,” she wrote in a clear friendly 
way, “ are you pleased to have my letter-writing 
or would you prefer to see the face or even the 
hand at the end of the quill? The latter is a 
white hand, but much stained with ink (as I 
look at it) at the finger tips. Your last letter 


COLD WATER 


9 


was a very woeful one, full of vows and van- 
ities, and, I fear, most untruthful. You are the 
only cousin I have in this whole world, and I for 
my part wish I might see you. It is a little hard 
that we may not — do you not think so? One 
might consider from your writing that we were 
quite well acquainted, and it is odd for me to 
think that we have never seen each other. Well, 
it is here that I am saying nothing more. I 
have cut out a paper pattern in my mind of 
what you should resemble. From you endear- 
ing habit of blowing bubbles with your g’s, I 
believe I should like you, but one can never tell. 
Therefore I will have no more imaginings, but 
remain. 

Thine: Katherine.” 

On this I went to bed full of a vaulting 
ambition and brave hopes unwarranted; for I 
saw the world as a playground and myself as its 
Prince Imperial. Youth is too splendid to need 
excuse; its foolishness even is of a kingly sort. 
I lay abed, which was roses to me, because of 
a half-dozen scratches from the pen of a mere 
woman. To dream of her smiling or in tears, 
sleeping or waking, amiable with me or out of 
humor, was a delight, unsullied by any fact or 


lO 


A LADY’S HONOR 


prejudice, in that I had never seen her. And I 
might conjure any image I pleased. My life 
had been worked through and through by my 
thoughts of Katherine. I did not pretend to 
drive them out, or to make excuses to my will. 
The thing was done. I had started with a 
woman, and had added thereto many qualities 
properly speaking the possession of the angels, 
and the whole had crystallized itself into my 
cousin Katherine. 

At last I think I slept, for I awoke of a sud- 
den with a cry tingling my ears. I sprung from 
my bed and listened. Moonlight filled my 
room, and through the open window I looked 
out over the still country. Again, from the far 
end of our grounds, came the call, and, between, 
the sharp hit of steel. I ran into my father’s 
room, snatched a primed pistol from his table, 
and in my night-clothes sprang through his win- 
dow on to the lawn. Thus barefooted I kicked 
and trampled my way through ferns and flower- 
beds until I came to the drive. There, as I 
turned the corner, I came upon a sight which 
struck me all cold and numb. In the open, 
under the bright light of moon and stars, two 
horsemen were fighting with swords, whilst a 
third was mounted some ten paces off, waiting 


COLD WATER 


1 1 

it seemed the issue. It was all deadly clear to 
me; for one of the horsemen was my father. He 
had striven to get through from London that 
night and had been attacked on the road by ruf- 
fians. For a time, I suppose, he had held them 
off, but two, it seemed, had followed him and 
run him down almost to his door. 

These reasons ran in my head as I came 
across the open towards them. I, a white run- 
ning figure with a pistol in my hand, was a very 
ready object to be seen, and there was a shout 
— from whom I cannot tell — as I came on. 
Then, as I was a hundred yards off, I saw the 
third man (he that had been waiting) rush in 
under my father’s sword arm. I saw the swing- 
ing out of the man’s hand and the little jumping 
flash of a dagger, and then my father fell for- 
ward in a heap under his horse’s hoofs. I was 
too late. Yet, as the two turned their horses 
towards the open road, I stood stiff and fired 
my pistol after the man who had made the blow. 
From the lift he gave in the saddle I judged 
I had hit him in the shoulder. He gave a cry 
of pain that rang out in the night; it seemed to 
me then a very young voice, clear and unused 
to trouble. The two rode furiously onward. 
Pursuit I knew to be useless, yet for the greater 


12 


A LADY’S HONOR 


part of two miles I labored after them barefoot 
along the road, one of the two waving for me 
to come on, and now and again sending a pistol- 
shot over me. At last, very sick at heart, 1 
gave up the attempt, and slowly made my way 
back again. Once only I stopped to pick up a 
silver case which I saw lying bright on the 
hedgeway. 

At last I came to where my father had fallen, 
and found him lying all drawn together and still, 
with the blood of his wound running through his 
clothes. As I came up, I saw my uncle and our 
old gardener standing beside him. I will get a 
mount and follow them,'^ I cried breathlessly, 
coming at once to the point. “ It is useless, 
lad,’' said my uncle calmly; “ they have a great 
start; you are not dressed; and we are too old for 
fighting,” meaning by the latter the gardener 
and himself, who other than myself were the 
only men on the place. It was certain he was 
right, but it hurt me to hear him talk in this 
matter-of-fact way. To me death was a pitiful 
thing; to him, a physician, it might appear dif- 
ferently. He knelt by my father’s side, but, 
spite his skill, he could do nothing, for my 
father was dead when we came to him. We 
made our way back again, sorrowfully enough, 


COLD WATER 


^3 

to the great still house, carrying my father be- 
tween us. 

Later, when I had dressed, we — my uncle 
and I — sat alone staring at each other along 
the dining-room table, he sitting in my father’s 
tall chair. Talking then was not after my heart. 
Besides, I had only seen my uncle at long inter- 
vals, and was always shy before him. In Lon- 
don, Doctor Peter Crighton had, I knew, the 
reputation of a person of great skill but small 
scruple. He was a famous healer in certain 
maladies, yet I knew my father never liked him, 
nor, but for their relationship — for he was his 
only brother — would have had him in the 
house. He was a small man with quick eyes, 
and suave ways. My father said, “ He had good 
manners but bad customs.” He came to us 
just once in the year to stay a month, and I 
am sure we were both heartily glad when 
he was gone. Like many another, he was 
mean with all but himself, with whom he 
was woefully extravagant, and he was con- 
stantly in a strait for money. I knew he had the 
entail of the estate after my father’s death. It 
seemed he only came to watch my father’s 
health, and to observe that the ground and 
buildings were profitably kept up. It was there- 


H 


A LADY’S HONOR 


fore small pleasure for me to see him in my 
father's place. 

Your sire is dead, Adam," said he, after a 
long wait. 

“ Yes, sir," said I, not caring to show emo- 
tion before him. 

“ He was a deal better man than I," said he. 

“ He was that," I answered. 

‘‘ It is a pity that the family law puts you 
out of seat," he continued. 

“ It is a pity for me," I agreed. 

‘‘ Ah," he muttered wearily, ‘‘ if human 
nature were not resentful, there would be more 
philosophers amongst us." ' 

My father is dead," I cried with some heat, 
“ and is it not my duty clear to find the hand 
that wrought this trouble? " 

“ I should certainly say not," he answered, 
“ because, my son," he added, there is not the 
slightest chance of your succeeding." 

He was your own brother," said I. 

“ And," he added musingly, “ I’d be moder- 
ately glad to see his murderer hanged; al- 
though," he continued, I’d surely be the 
poorer were my brother alive." 

“ It would be bad for him if I find him — 
there would be no execution," said I. 


COLD WATER 


15 


'' You are biting the mist,” said my uncle. 
“ You cannot scent him as a Hampshire dog a 
truffle.” 

“ Look at this,” I inconsequently answered, 
and I laid on the table that which I had found 
on the road. 

As it lay before him I saw that it was a 
small flat silver case, perhaps three inches square, 
and in one corner was a broken fragment of 
chain of fine texture. I thought it was evident 
it had hung from the neck. 

My uncle looked at me closely and then 
glanced at the case. ‘‘ Is this from your 
cousin? ” he asked pleasantly. 

“ I found it on the road,” I answered; and 
at this he took it in his hand. At once his finger 
seemed to find a spring, and the case flew open 
before him. I could see across that it contained 
a pastel painting of a face, but of what form of 
face I could not tell. My chief interest was in 
my uncle. He sat staring at the picture with 
changing shadows in his eyes. Then, of a sud- 
den, and without any warning, with his hand 
clutching the case, he fell forward on the table 
in a dead faint. 

When he recovered — which he did very 
quickly— he made himself a concoction. ‘‘ I 


i6 


A LADY’S HONOR 


suppose our trouble has unsettled me,” he re- 
marked with a white smile — a fact which to my- 
self I made bold to misbelieve. 

“ Would you please return me the case? ” I 
asked. 

“ It is a pretty lady; do you think so? ” he 
asked. 

“ I have hot seen it,” I answered. 

‘‘ No,” said he; “ then it will be best for me 
to keep it.” 

“ Pardon me, but I found it,” I suggested. 

Yes,” he said in a tone to which I felt there 
could be no comment, “ but I keep it.” 

The whole bitter day, both at meal-times and 
between, we sat and eyed each other always* 
more or less suspiciously, and neither caring to 
break silence. Any liking my uncle Peter had 
for me formerly seemed in this afternoon to drip 
gradually away, as if the vessel of his good-will 
had suddenly sprung a leak. As for the case 
which he had held when he fainted forward, he 
made no further reference either to the thing or 
to the affair. In the evening he had our two 
best roans out of the stable, and, much to my 
relief, started to drive to town, and in that lonely 
house I was left to myself and my reflections, 
which were not of a pleasant sort. Everything 


COLD WATER 


17 


about me brought memories of him I had lost. 
His pipes, his books, his swords slung from the 
walls, his dog asleep by my chair, all drove my 
thoughts back on the associations of the past. 
His death, so abrupt and meaningless, seemed 
a fancy which an awakening would dissipate. 
Gradually its certainty seemed to freeze into 
me, and left me with a cold helpless feeling, as if 
all the sunshine were gone out of the world. 

In the morning niy uncle returned. His 
wig was crisp and his linen immaculate, and 
everything upon him spick and fresh, but he 
looked very white and weary. Only his bright 
eyes shone, and in his yellow face they looked 
'like diamonds in a parchment frame. “ I’ve 
been up the whole night, boy,” he said wearily, 
and then I could not save her life.” A look of 
strenuous disappointment shot over his face. 

She had beauty, wealth, and religion — but I 
could not save her life.” Doubtless it was right 
enough and reasonable that a physician should 
regret to lose a life he might perhaps have saved, 
when with my father there was never any hope. 
Yet here we were all of one blood, and I was an- 
gered that he had said nothing either here or 
before in sorrow for my father, whilst with me 
my heart was all aching. 


i8 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ Were you well acquainted with the lady? ” 
I asked. 

“ Why, lad, I had never seen her before. 
Why do you inquire? ” 

“ I was thinking of my father,” said I. 

“ Were you not considering,” my uncle 
asked, “ that whereas I am deeply concerned at 
the death of a stranger, I am unmoved at the 
loss of my brother? ” 

“ The deduction is not unreasonable,” I an- 
swered. 

“ Yet,” said he, the lady’s life I might have 
saved, but for your father there was never a 
chance.” He continued, “ It is true I am not 
grieved. But then I am never grieved at death. 
It is life which distresses me. You are shocked 
at Death. I am not. We are old friends. We 
nod grimly to each other when we meet — that 
is all. He can afford magnanimity; for he will 
always win in the end. Assuredly you are think- 
ing of your father,” he went on. Well, I am 
not. At twenty I too lost my father, but the 
next summer I wore a pink coat with white 
lace. It was a brocaded coat. You see I am 
old and wicked. You are young, and — praise 
be to the saints — virtuous. Therefore we’ll 
never agree.” 


COLD WATER 


19 


After this, which was for him a very long 
speech, he stopped and took snuff very delib- 
erately from his box. 

“ Do you know,” he continued with a touch 
of frankness and leaning over the table towards 
me, “ you would be happier with, instead of a 
table, a county between us.” 

“ I suppose so,” said I after a while. 

“ When’ll you start? ” said he. 

“ Now if you like.” 

Gently, gently,” said my uncle; ‘‘ I am not 
poisonous.” 

I asked his pardon and he went on: “To- 
morrow will be in plenty of time. Then we can 
see how matters stand, and I will take you up to 
town myself.” 

To this, perforce, I could make no objection. 
As a fact, I was glad of any way to be ulti- 
mately rid of my uncle, and to escape from sur- 
roundings which were painful. It was true I 
had but the few hundred pounds my father 
had saved for me, but I was keen to strike 
a line for myself. I had many more hopes than 
misgivings. 

We spent the evening and part of the night ^ 
in putting my father’s papers in order. Uncle 
Peter coldly scanned every leaflet through his 


20 


A LADY’S HONOR 


gold eye-glass, whilst to me, standing beside his 
chair, it seemed rather like a business of picking 
my father’s bones. Fodder bills, bailiffs’ reports, 
statements of fruit sales, notes on horses and 
documents of every kind, we found neatly dock- 
eted in my father’s hand. Last of all we 
came to the back of a bureau, and there we 
fell upon two letters which seemed to me newly 
inscribed. 

One was addressed to Miss Katherine 
Crighton,* at the house of the Countess 
Vanburton, presenting your cousin Adam 
Crighton, Esquire,” all written on the en- 
velope, and sealed; and the other was sealed 
also in our heavy green wax and super- 
scribed, “To His Grace The Duke of Marl- 
borough from an old comrade, Adam Crighton, 
Colonel.” 

For what seemed a long while we — my 
Uncle Peter and I — stared at these two letters, 
rich, I delighted to believe, as harbingers of for- 
tune. Then my uncle struck in: “You see in 
these affairs, nephew, a wife and a fortune. Let 
me lay bare to you the probabilities. One is a 
young lady with more whims and lovers than 

* Our family, even in marriage, always held to their own 


name. 


COLD WATER 


21 


you have either graces to your person or coins 
to your heritage.” 

‘‘ But, sir, the other? ” said I. 

“ Is Captain-General of the Queen’s army, 
whilst you are, I will not say again — a beggar.” 


CHAPTER II 


THE VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 

The next day, on our arrival in London, 
my uncle escorted me to his house in St. James’ 
Street, where we partook of a solitary dinner, 
and afterwards — there being several patients 
awaiting him — he gave me his blessing and sent 
me about my business. 

In my father’s life he had talked glibly of 
what he would do for me in the world, but now 
that the opportunity presented itself, the desire 
appeared to retire. I found therefore a cheap 
lodging off Pall Mall, and having two hundred 
pounds and good health set out to amuse my- 
self. I visited Covent Garden, the Ranelagh, 
Sadler’s Wells, and Vauxhall, the Old Bailey 
trials, the Newgate hangings, and the charity 
children at St. Paul’s — in fact, all the sights of 
the town. I saw nothing of my uncle, however, 
although he bowed to me once in a most gra- 
cious, affectionate way as he passed me with a 


22 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 23 


lady in a grand carriage. I thought a great deal 
of my cousin, and often stared at my Lord Marl- 
borough’s great house in the Mall. Once in- 
deed I presented myself in the hall, and asked 
if His Grace were not engaged I might see him. 

‘‘ Do you come from the Queen? ” asked a 
liveried fellow, grinning. 

“ I have an introduction,” said I. 

‘‘ The Duke is not at home,” he said. 

I will wait,” I answered, and sat down. 

There I stayed for perhaps two hours, the 
fellow the while reading a news-sheet to a 
friend. 

“ Will you have the goodness to inform me,” 
I said at length, growing impatient, “ if the 
Duke is expected to be long away.” 

“ Sir,” said the man, “ the Duke is in the 
country. He may be a day or a week — I cannot 
tell.” 

You’ll be sorry for this,” I cried. 

'' I am frequently told that,” said he, “ by 
gentlemen with introductions,” and with a very 
hot feeling I returned to the street. 

The most cheerful places in the town I 
found to be the chocolate houses; and I found 
that where the chocolate was good the talk was 
poor, and where the chocolate was poor the talk 


24 


A LADY’S HONOR 


was animated. At one house of the latter sort, 
I fell in with a pleasant-mannered fellow named 
Cathcart, with whom I struck up a kind of ac- 
quaintance, for, like me, he had no business to 
do. Together we visited the fairs and the tea- 
gardens, and attended a prize-fight between 
Black Samuel and Chippy Rochester. At this I 
found more blood than science, and made sev- 
eral more or less desirable acquaintance. Cath- 
cart’s profession was something of a mystery. 
Money and good looks he had in plenty, and he 
wore his ruffles and white satin coat with the 
grace of a gentleman of France. 

“ Crighton,’’ he said to me one afternoon 
when I was feeling lonely and out of humor. 
I’ve a sort of feeling that you are not in the 
right set. You need your spirit brought to the 
top. For myself. I’d rather be a cheerful cut- 
purse than a depressed poet. Now to-night, at 
a queer place called the Red Bodice, I am meet- 
ing friends whom in the ordinary one does not 
come across. What if I asked you to join us? ” 
If it is anything to release me from this 
sickening respectability, for pity sake take me,” 
said I. 

That evening I followed my guide to the 
streets at the back of St. Clement Church. I 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 25 

had never before been in this part of the town, 
which I knew was given over to the keepers of 
flash lodging-houses, and Darby-captains, and 
people of a base sort. The streets were dirty and 
ill-lit, wretched oil-lamps flickering at long in- 
tervals, and only the lanthorns and our link- 
boy saving us from the open sewers. 

Rubbish lay all about, and the stone steps of 
the houses came far across the foot-path. Bul- 
locks were being driven past us, bullies with 
great swords swaggered and swore; barbers at 
their shop-steps blew flour into their wigs; por- 
ters staggered under bundles; butchers sold 
meat at open bulkheads, crying, “ Rally up, 
ladies! rally up; buy! buy! buy!” and women 
stood about with baskets. 

Hawkers were everywhere: soldering pans, 
haggling for rags and rusty swords, exchanging 
wigs, mending chairs, or cutting wires on 
coopers’ casks. Besides these was a great deal 
of fighting, in which, except the combatants, no 
one seemed to show any interest. 

Also there was a deafening noise. Sweeps 
shouted their trade from the housetops, ballad 
singers yelled in the road, and a dancing bear 
capered round a drum. 

Spite the crowd and the coaches, there was 


26 


A LADY’S HONOR 


a vast deal of open-air eating. Shrewsbury 
cakes, barley-broth, hot peas — cod, codlins and 
ginger-bread, taffity-tarts and chaney oranges 
found eager custom. 

Cathcart's only stoppage was to turn a 
watchman’s box. But once, meeting a pretty 
gray-cloaked lady clicking along in her pattens, 
my companion suddenly saluted her with sweep- 
ing bows and buttered her with gallantries. He 
insisted he had met “ Her Ladyship,” would 
carry her basket, also her packet of wool, and 
her paper of cherries (I standing foolishly by). 
Thus he marched her to her home near by, the 
girl convoyed as a queen, her eyes bright with 
temper, and her face and her ears all burning 
with blushes. 

At last after a journey of perhaps half-an- 
hour I was tumbled along a dark passage, and 
further down some stone stairs into a long low 
cellar. The roof was grimed with smoke and 
stained into all manner of queer shapes by 
liquors which must have been tossed to the ceil- 
ing. From a beam hams and cheeses were sus- 
pended all in the blue mold of condition. On 
the hearth a peat fire merrily quizzed and 
crackled, and jars of punch, old Pharaoh, port- 
cup and humtie-dumtie simmered on the hob? 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 27 


Ten men, I daresay, were taking their ease 
at a long table, which was a rough affair of 
tressles and a long plank; the one barred win- 
dow looked into a yard littered with barrels and 
old muskets. The cellar itself was full of blad- 
ders of rum, bags of flour and coffee, and casks 
of tamarinds, which I knew at once must have 
been stolen from ships. 

Doubtless we had fallen in with a party of 
thieves, but as all things showed them to be 
agreeable and entertaining rufflans, I had no 
concern for my predicament. As for Cathcart, 
he was in no way disconcerted. As a fact, he 
was never without a smile whether the occasion 
was trifling or grave, and now as he smiled at 
me in this strange place the grace of his happy 
talent was endearing. 

Cathcart had promised me queer entertain- 
ment: and I found it in the cellar of the Red 
Bodice. 

Those about me were clear rufflans: broken 
tradesmen, soiled men of fashion, and soldiers 
whom want of heart or interest had kept from 
the wars. 

In the head seat sat a burnt-out gallant of 
dark complexion, in tarnished lace and tattered 
ruffles, and with a villainous hanger at his side. 


28 


A LADY’S HONOR 


As we entered he made a great noise on the 
table with a bunch of leaden seals and welcomed 
my companion with some chosen oaths. 

They found me a seat and a pipe and a 
steaming posset, and Cathcart introduced me 
in flattering terms: 

“ Gallant gentlemen and inseparable com- 
rades,’’ he commenced, “ I present to you — my 
friend. He is a scholar without learning, and a 
lover without scruple, one skilled with pistol, 
rapier, and the long sword. So to your feet I 
say, and drink his better fortune and depravity.” 

Then was got up such roaring and tabooing, 
such protestations of friendship, and such a con- 
sumption of liquor, that when at length the 
uproar was interrupted by a stamping and 
shuffling overhead, I was grateful for the 
diversion. 

From the passage the noise was carried to 
the stair, and in a minute the door was burst 
open and a man came lurching forward into the 
cellar. His cheek and ears were cut across with 
weals, as if with a riding-whip, and from the 
condition of his dress, as well, it appeared he 
had been uncomfortably intimate in a struggle. 

After him appeared two other men trundling 
between them a figure enveloped to the calves 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 29 


in a coarse sacking. I made no doubt by this 
time that this must be the victim of highway 
robbery whom they had brought here to 
threaten for further extortion. 

Now at last I regretted somewhat that I had 
been strung on this adventure. I looked across 
at Cathcart, who smiled back upon me, and 
wished me a “ merry evening,” and so I swal- 
lowed my disturbances as in no way becoming 
in a philosopher. 

“ What’s the story? ” cried the fellow in the 
chair. 

“ Fought like a blue devil,” said the man 
with the scars on his face, “ and he flogged 
about him with his whip, and swore he’d have 
every man of us shot against a wall. So we 
dragged him down and brought him here — well, 
to argue with him.” 

“ And,” added the man in the chair with a 
laugh, to impress him with the evil of his 
ways.” 

But they wasted no ado on him for the pres- 
ent, for they just bunched him down in the cor- 
ner like an armful of faggots in a way that must 
have cost him a wealth of bad bruises. 

As a fact he was soon forgotten; for in a 
minute a boy and a serving-woman appeared 


30 


A LADY’S HONOR 


with a coarse tablecover and — it being Easter 
Week — with a great dish of veal and tansy 
puddings. 

I learned that they were always scrupulous 
to keep the feasts in the cellar, and eat their 
geese at Michaelmas, their veal at Easter, their 
salt fish and leeks in Lent, and their pork and 
spats and spurling at All Saints, with the rest 
of Christendom. 

Now although I ate freely with the rest, yet 
all my interests somehow were with the figure 
in the corner. He was propped against the win- 
dow, and his head had fallen forward on his 
breast, as if he were asleep. I wondered if he 
might be merchant or gallant, old man or 
young. Surely he was rich, for I heard they had 
robbed him on the St. Albans Road of five hun- 
dred guineas. 

He wore, I could see, simple polished black 
shoes, with the plainest gold buckles; and fur- 
ther I could only remark the silk of his black 
stockings, for the sacking enveloped the rest. 

Still, I could hardly imagine that a citizen 
would carry such metal on his feet, nor a court 
dapper such simplicity. Moreover, from these 
plain gold shoe-buckles with, I observed, a tiny 
crested lion, came to me an impression of 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 31 


strength and a shining power that made me 
wonder to see his face. He was slim, and more 
than common tall, and wrongly as it turned, I 
judged him to be a very young man. 

At length I thought him dead, for he lay so 
long a time without moving; then suddenly I 
saw him turn on his side, as if he were making 
the best of a bad job; and at this I was in a 
great way relieved. 

Yet as it is hard to gather a man’s character 
from the buckles on his shoes I at last gave up 
the notion and settled myself again in my chair. 

By this time the veal and the puddings had 
pretty nearly disappeared, and they had brewed 
a stifling hot concoction called “ knock-down,” 
which, with my best grace, I was bound to taste. 

As this appeared Cathcart called for a toast. 

Our friend in the corner,” said the dark 
man in the chair. 

“ I’d rather choke him than toast him,” said 
the fellow with the weals on his cheek. 

“ No good comes from choking,” says Cath- 
cart cheerfully. Better unbuckle the gentle- 
man that he may drink to his own enjoyment.” 

They roughly had him on his feet, I by far 
the most concerned of the company; and started 
to cut away the strings with knives which had 


32 


A LADY’S HONOR 


been used for the veal. I was one of the fore- 
most in this operation, but the knives were 
deadly blunt, and it was many minutes before 
we could saw our way through. His hands had 
been tied behind his back, and here too I cut 
the cords. 

Then before his head was drawn forth, or the 
gags removed (for with the memory of the 
horsewhip they had taken much care of their 
prisoner), one drunken ruffian must hoist to his 
feet and fill his pot to fling it full tilt at the 
gentleman. For his baptism,” he shouted; but 
with a quick snatch Cathcart swept the pot to 
the right and sent the foul beer into the 
crackling peat-wood. 

The fellow was black with anger, and I 
thought that for a moment affairs had an ugly 
turn. -Then Cathcart’s face lighted up with a 
smile. “ I am sorry,” said he, but I think 
I never asked you for the name of our guest.” 

“ Can’t say,” said the fellow surlily, “ we 
waited for an alderman, but we don’t choose — 
we take what comes.” 

By this time the operations on the sack were 
completed. 

“ Bring forth the bird! ” cries Cathcart, and 
immediately they drew the cover back over the 


VISITOR AT THE RED BODICE 33 


gentleman’s head; and at the same moment the 
gags were torn from his mouth and the bandage 
from his eyes. 

I saw first that the lace at his wrists and the 
ruffles at his throat were awry. He wore a 
plain suit of black silk, with one small order 
sparkling on his heart. And I looked up, and 
I knew that I had met before in my father’s pic- 
ture that strong, passionless face and those eyes, 
the brightest blue I ever saw. 

As he stood straight before us all, a great 
cry came from the fellow in the chair, and he 
started trembling to his feet. To see his ter- 
ror and shame was something pitiful: all the 
light was gone from his eyes and all the gaiety 
from his manner. 

The Duke — the great Duke of Marlbor- 
ough! ” he cried in affrighted tones; may the 
merciful Lord deliver us! ” 


CHAPTER III 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 

His Grace of Marlborough was never, it was 
said, in a passion; but now as he stood before 
this crew, there was a light in his eyes that led 
me to wish myself, at any cost, his friend, rather 
than, however easily, his enemy. 

He stood there in his sleek clothes, with the 
one jewel sparkling on his breast (I know not 
why even that had been left to him), and a 
dignity which none but the greatest could have 
carried into his circumstances. That knowing 
him they had power to touch him, he had, it 
seemed, no thought. 

They stood back from him as if they, not 
he, were at bay, and they hung around like a 
ring of braggarts whose feathers had been in the 
rain. 

They waited for him to speak. 

Then after a great pause, he cried in his shrill 
voice. “ See! ” said he. I am sixty years of 
34 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 35 

age. I have served kings for nearly forty years, 
and I was never insulted before.” 

At this I jumped to his side. 

“ My father was your comrade, and I am 
a gentleman, my lord,” I cried. 

There was no more time for words, for I 
could see that he was too cautious to make 
risks in this medley of ruffians, and I saw also 
that he was backing to the door. 

I stood at the Duke’s heel, facing the right, 
where the window lay, thinking of an endeavor 
to take him by the flank. But I might have 
spared my trouble for myself, for it was clear 
they durst lay no finger on his person. For had 
he been the Lord’s Anointed, they could not in 
his regard have appeared more frightened and 
ashamed. I think they gathered their rage and 
vindictiveness for myself. One man must have 
crept under the long tressled table, for suddenly, 
“ Quick, your foot,” says the Duke, and as I 
lifted my toes a dagger struck into the earth 
where I had stood, and an arm whipped swiftly 
away. 

As to Cathcart, he was in the rear of them 
all. From the glimpse I caught of him, I could 
see there was a cloud on his gay face. Although 
by this time I felt sure he had miore than a 


36 A LADY’S HONOR 

passing interest in the cellar, yet I believed, if 
the chance were given him, he would have 
sprung over and taken the side of the Duke. 
His companions thought doubtless in the same 
manner, for they had shut him into the far cor- 
ner and watched him with a wary eye. 

By this time I had in a shy, sly way slid out 
my rapier, and held its blade against my leg, 
thinking now or later to have a prick at one of 
the crew. For one thing, there was already cer- 
tain symptoms of revolt. Particularly I noticed 
a tall fellow with great coarse hands brandishing 
a heavy pot as if he would aim it at the Duke. 
I say I was burning to be doing. But the Duke, 
without turning his head, must say to me in 
his gentle fashion, “ Silly, silly.” Yet this wise 
rebuke was wasted upon me, for already I had 
brought my weapon smartly to the guard, and 
swinging myself forward, lunged and wounded 
the man in the sword arm, and at this he, in his 
pain, dropped the pot and, slipping, shot forward 
and sat in a puddle of beer, swearing and cursing 
at me in his pickle. 

This, I fancy, set the whole stock rolling. 

It was the signal for a great upheaval, and 
they came at me in a rush, and I assuredly must 
have been beaten down to death, for my Lord of 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 37 

Marlborough made no sign to save me, think- 
ing, doubtless, I deserved my beating. 

But at this time there happened above a 
most fearful disorder. From without came the 
din of horses’ hoofs innumerable, in that it 
seemed an army was charging down the street, 
and we could hear troopers swinging from the 
saddle and cutting at the shutters with their 
swords. At the door we heard the kicking of 
their jack-boots, and then the creaking of its 
panels as they gave to the strain. Officers 
sung out orders to their troops, and through 
it all there was a great deal of cheering and 
shouting. 

All this came about as the men fell back 
from me like a pack of frightened curs, and 
every face was startled and white, and the Duke 
started to hunt for a gold snuff-box, which had 
not been taken, but which had fallen from him 
in his adventure. 

Then in the cellar I heard one or two of the 
foremost in a muttered conversation. 

Said one, '' It’s Bow Street.” 

It’s Trinity House,” said the man who had 
sat in the chair. 

“ You fools! ” said Cathcart, with his pleas- 
ant drawl, “ it’s soldiers.” 


38 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“Anyhow, you’re with us,” said the first 
fellow. 

“ Fool again,” said Cathcart; “ I’m a simple 
visitor.” 

“ You’re a pestilent liar,” said the man. 

“ Hush, my pretty fellow,” said Cathcart; 
“ no recriminations. Better, all of you, look to 
yourselves when the danger comes.” 

Forthwith they started to throw all the 
movable goods across the cellar. Tressles and 
tables, bladders of rum, casks of tamarinds, and 
bags of wheat and flour and coffee were tumbled 
into a rough barricade. These they built into 
a line, they behind it with the best part of the 
room, and we set in by the window and on the 
right side of the barrier by the door. All had 
drawn their pistols and weapons, and it seemed 
they meant to fight for it. 

Ere, however, they had finished these prep- 
arations, came the noise of the bursting door, 
and then the struggling and commotion as the 
soldiery broke into the house. Event succeeded 
event so quickly that it seemed in a moment 
more that the cellar was full of dragoons. (I 
afterwards discovered that this was the regi- 
ment whose troopers had thrown their shirts 
over the walls at Marlborough House that His 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 39 

Grace might be impressed by their neglected 
condition.) 

Now, at all events, there was no feeling 
among them but to revenge their General, and 
to punish his assailants. 

There were one or two aimless pistol shots, 
with no other effect than smoke and explosion. 
Then the dragoons charged and scrambled over 
the barrier, and then there was the devil to do. 
Quicker than the telling of it, they began to 
fling my table company about, like so many 
paper boxes. 

I looked for Cathcart. He, it appeared, with 
his own happy genius for adaptation, had as- 
sumed the character of the disinterested spec- 
tator. He had seated himself on the window- 
sill, folding his arms and smiling across to me 
upon the scene. But when he discovered that 
neither the Duke nor I returned any notice to 
these advancements, he seemed to fall upon a 
decision. In a thought I saw him drop down 
from his seat and snatch a torch that trembled 
in its sconce in the wall. Then, before I could 
attempt to reach him, he flung aloft the burning 
tar, which at once came plunging forward, and 
fell on the bladders of rum which lay across the 
floor. Then, in a moment, there was a whiz 


40 


A LADY’S HONOR 


as of torn silk and the cellar was full of blue 
fire. 

There was a stay in the crash and the shout- 
ing, for the cellar was hot with flame, which 
turned the men into women, and sent them, foe 
and comrade alike intermixed, unsettled with 
fear, in a blind charge for the door. 

The Duke and myself at this time were at 
the foot of the broken stairway which led by the 
passage to the street. At this I touched him on 
the arm. Will you pass out, my lord? ” said 
I. “After you,” he says coldly; and had he 
told me to run for it and leave him, I should^ 
have obeyed, though it would not, I think, have 
been in cowardice. 

As we stayed for a moment at the foot of the 
stairway in this rush and fever I think I must 
have lost my head. I know he said constantly in 
my ear, “ Silly, silly,” in his queer, shrill, sooth- 
ing way. Then we turned to leave, and as we 
turned I could hear behind us the cursing and 
the wrestling, and the hiss of the fl^me. So we 
stumbled on in the front of this hash of thieves 
and dragoons. Up the stairs we fell, with the 
little blue flames all the while running at our 
feet, and then we were swung along the passage 
and into the street in the crack of a whip. 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 41 


It was an engagement without prisoner or 
casualty, for my companions of the cellar scat- 
tered in a twinkling: and if any trooper was 
harmed, he showed no sign of it, for all were 
merry and busy — in joy, I am sure, at the 
Duke’s escape. Two troopers were unhorsed 
that the Duke, with myself, might be mounted; 
and as the watch came to the fire in a crutchedly 
run and started to work with the water, we 
swung into the saddle and started out towards 
the city. 

But to think where I was going or what for- 
tune awaited me was no glad prospect for a mid- 
night ride. I, without one loving blood relation 
in the universe, with no more pieces than might 
buy me clean heels and a sufficiency of food, 
had, it appeared, small concert with fortune. 
Yet what might not the Duke do for me if he 
willed? I think I flung my cap on this chance, 
and being on a capital seat, with a fine fresh 
breeze on my cheek, I put my trust in my stars 
and did not greatly care. 

I rode but a little aback from my lord, al- 
most beside myself with this high honor. For 
a long time I durst not look in his face, though 
I longed so to do. The captain of the troop 
rode on my left. I turned to him and asked, civ- 


42 


A LADY’S HONOR 


illy enough I imagined, how they had come to 
trace their General to the cellar. He answered 
shortly “ that my lord was expected from St. 
Albans at nine.” When at ten he did not arrive, 
they had searched the road and learnt of the 
struggle, and thereon they had broken all the 
mug-houses in the town, on chance of finding 
him. “ Then,” he concluded, “ we came to the 
Red Bodice.” 

His manner was so grave and uninviting 
that I made no further remark, but rode 
silently on. 

As for the Duke, he seemed neither ruffled 
nor entertained; but he wore his usual mask of 
feature. Once, though, I heard him mutter in 
a low voice, I am glad I am going home, for 
my sweetheart is in London,” and he had 
not started from his reverie when we reached 
his great place in Pall Mall. Here, as he 
halted and dismounted, the squadron closed up 
about him, I wondering with a blank face on the 
skirts of them all. As he flung his bridle reins 
to a trooper, a lady came down the steps with 
shining eyes, and came to him and kissed him 
before them all, and then he turned his back on 
us and disappeared into the house. I stood star- 
ing for some time until a trooper came to me. 


THE FIGHT IN THE CELLAR 43 


Your honor’s pardon,” said he, but if you 
have done with the animal, we will take her on 
to Knightsbridge.” 

At this I dismounted and handed the mare 
to the soldier. 

“ I wonder that His Grace has not spoken 
to me,” said 1. 

“ The Duke can think of nothing,” said he, 
“ when my Lady Marlborough is in the way 
to meet him.” 

Then without any more ado the troop swung 
themselves into column, and at the word of 
command started off towards Knightsbridge, 
whilst I, all chopfallen, started off to my lodging 
off the Mall. 


4 


CHAPTER IV 


MY TWO STRAWS ARE BROKEN 

On the following morning, after breakfast in 
my lodging, I made to my uncle’s house in St. 
James’ Street, and found him at his morning 
meal. It was not his practice to question me 
as to my whereabouts, so I was under no com- 
punction to inform him of my outgoings of the 
night before. Here he was plentifully immersed 
in books of medicine, and he peered at me now 
over papers stuck around against his crockery 
like a watcher over his city wall. 

“ You have done nothing to be proud of 
lately,” he commenced. 

“ Nor I hope to be ashamed of either? ” 
said L 

“ You are still for love and the wars,” 
said he. 

Assuredly,” I answered. 

Boy,” said he, I had great hopes when 

you came to the city that you would find study 
44 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 45 


and interest therein, but I begin to fear you have 
neither brains nor application.” 

I am unfortunate,” said I, perhaps rudely, 
for I was taken aback at his complaint, seeing 
that he had lifted never a finger to help me. 

“ You are idle,” said he. 

'' My father was a soldier,” I answered, “ and 
for myself I cannot takfe employment in which 
I have no heart.” 

“ Well,” said he, I wash my hands of you. 
All my endeavors are thrown away. You are 
ungrateful. You had best take your fortune to 
yourself and present your letter to the Duke. 
He will smile and do nothing for you. And,” 
he added, “ here is another post sent on from 
Norfolk, in which I trust you will find better 
entertainment than I can offer you.” And he 
handed me a missive and a tiny parcel, and then 
with a shake of his wig he dismissed me. 

In the street I met Cathcart, in a new red- 
flowered satin suit, and he saluted me with a 
delighted shout: 

“ My little lamb,” said he, '' I thought you 
were in the Tower.” 

“ Small thanks to you,” said I, that I was 
not burnt in rum.” 

We do not however choose our friends for 


46 


A LADY’S HONOR 


their accomplishments in honesty; and I admit 
I was unfeignedly glad to see him. His gay 
spirits were infectious, and his sympathy quick 
and ready. 

“ I suppose you have decided,” said he, com- 
ing straight to the point, “ that it is I who run 
the mug-house? ” 

“ At least you seemed very much at home,” 
said I. 

“ No,” he answered calmly, “ I do not kid- 
nap Dukes and steal tamarinds; but I will agree 
with you if you suggest that I am not careful 
sufficiently of my reputation. What’s the little 
parcel? ” he added, “ may I know? ” He 
nodded towards the parcel I carried in my hand. 

It is something from abroad,” said I, for I 
knew it came from Belgium. 

That is very interesting,” said he; “ should 
we open the package? ” 

Cathcart, when he pleased, had an easy 
fashion of ignoring what are sometimes termed 
manners. 

The parcel was a particularly small one, no 
bigger than a hand, but it was much wound 
with cord and silk, which we now started to 
despatch. At last we passed the paper and came 
to a flat substance wrapped in wool, which being 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 47 


removed, exposed an oil painting on ivory of a 
girl. From the writing on the wrapper I had 
known the package to be from my cousin, but 
the face was startling and unexpected to me. 
It was a very proud face, but one saved from 
hauteur by the tenderness in the lips and from 
mere prettiness by the depth and beauty of the 
dark eyes; it was the picture of the face and 
shoulders of a lovely Englishwoman. 

Cathcart stared at the picture, as I did. “ Is 
that your cousin? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” said I; “ but this is the first I have 
seen of her.” 

He paused. “ And has she never seen 
you?” he questioned. 

“ Of course not,” I answered; why do you 
ask? ” 

Only that if I had cousins of that kind, I 
imagine we would not be so long unac- 
quainted.” 

Also he asked me her name and situation, 
which I, being in a kind of pride at the con- 
nection, was pleased enough to tell him. 

Adam,” said he, calling me for the first 
time by my first name, which however did not 
displease me, “ why should you not take me to 
the Continent to visit her? ” 


48 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Because,” said I, I have to fight first and 
love afterwards, and I have not yet fought.” 

Little lamb,” said he, you may fight as 
hard as you please; the loving I will do for you 
myself.” 

‘"You are greatly obliging,” I answered 
somewhat sententiously, “ but my cousin and I 
are by post already somewhat of a favor to 
each other.” 

By letter,” he repeated, and laughed. 

‘‘ I mean only to say,” said I, '' that although 
we have never met, we are friends — by corre- 
spondence.” 

“ It is a pretty love tale,” said he, yet if 
like a cat I had nine lives. I’d bet every one of 
them that I’d be her lover before you were her 
friend.” 

“ Honorably,” say I. 

“ Well, surely that of course,” he says 
gravely. 

“ Otherwise,” I added slowly, “ I think I’d 
have taken the bet.” 

''You profligate! What! the whole?” he 
cried. 

" No,” say I, " merely a ninth part would 
be enough.” 

" My life then you mean? ” he says slowly. 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 49 

'' That’s about the size of it,” say 1. 

By this time we had reached the river, where 
the air was fresh, and there was a noble view. 
The stream was crowded with barges and pleas- 
ure boats brave with banners and streamers of 
silks. I was quite content to watch the scene 
whilst Cathcart pelted the swans with Shrews- 
bury cakes which he purchased from an old 
woman for a gold piece, on receipt of which the 
woman was so excited that she nearly choked, 
and regarded us for some time afterwards with 
an aweful expression. 

“ But you are going to take me to Bel- 
gium? ” he repeated at length, “ or is it that ybu 
do not think me a proper person to meet your 
inestimable cousin, being, as she is, so extremely 
fond of you? As a fact,” he continued, “ I dare- 
say she is the figure of most of our young ladies. 
She makes tippets and works handkerchiefs in 
cat-gut, and makes grottoes, and copies music, 
and cuts out landscapes, and collects shells, and 
distils creams, and confects puddings. Such is 
the occupation of all angels.” 

My cousin is a lady — not an angel,” 
say I. 

“ You will pardon these meditations, I am 
sure,” says Cathcart, '' but her face is a wonder- 


50 


A LADY’S HONOR 


fully attractive one. I wish she were my cousin, 
that she might write to me.” 

I have a letter in my pocket at this mo- 
ment,” say I, rather proudly. 

“ From her? ” he cries incredulously. 

Yes, from her,” I answer, “ but the seal is 
yet unbroken. 

“ Oh, my Sir Bedivere,” says he, what 
icicles hast thou in thy veins? ” 

“ But,” I answered, “ it came to me only 
this morning with the painting you have seen.” 

“ It is most likely a declaration,” he says 
slyly. 

“ I fancy you do not know my cousin 
Katherine,” I answer. 

“ More’s the pity,” he answers gloomily. 

With this I take from my pocket the letter 
I had just received, written, of course, before 
my father’s death. He glances away at a lady 
with light-blue shoulder-knots passing in a 
pleasure-boat, and I break the seal and read. 

“ The House of the Vantage, 

Antwerp, ist February^ jyoS. 

'' Adam Dear, — Not having written or been 
written to these many months, I sit down in a 
new gown to indite to you a letter, but as you 
will learn hereafter, in a new character. In the 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 51 


first place I send you my face and some twenty 
pounds, I calculate, other of me. I hope that 
you will delight at my presentment which not 
in the least doth do me justice. It is a great 
bustle here with the soldiers and the wars, and 
I hear that the great Lord Marlborough is to 
come soon with the English. Your father is a 
soldier, cousin; why are you not a soldier too? 

‘‘ And it is here that I send my love and 
compliments, and remain: Thine 

Katherine. 

“ P. S . — In the hurry of great matters I 
have omitted to mention to you that I am now 
married to Captain Count Ellstein, of the staff 
of Prince Eugene.’' 

For some moments I stared at the letter, and 
the gay boats and gowns and the sparkling 
river seemed sadly incongruous to this new 
crack of bad fortune. My cousin had always 
been at the back of my mind, a refuge as it 
were to which I could retreat in spirit when my 
mood or affairs were gloomy. Clearly in her 
new character my thoughts must find some new 
retirement. The projects I had formed, though 
mayhap shapeless and impracticable, were none 
the less very real ones to me. Now they were. 


52 


A LADY’S HONOR 


of a verity, moonlight. It was as if I had been 
sleeping in the sun, and had been awakened in 
the evening in the cold and the dew. How I 
loathed the “ Captain Count Ellstein, of the 
staf¥ of the Prince Eugene.” Some shock- 
ing, beer-swilling, tobacco-reeking German — 
although this impression was but a poor com- 
pliment to my cousin’s discernment. 

I think I might have stared at this paper 
until the break of doom, but that Cathcart 
clapped me on the shoulder. 

'' My Bedivere,” he said kindly, “ are the 
French in Belgium? ” 

'' No,” I answered blankly, “ but my capital 
has capitulated,” and here I did what at another 
time I should have thought contemptible — I 
handed the letter to Cathcart. He read it sev- 
eral times with a running smile all over his face. 
“ Exit Adam,” said he at last, and returned the 
paper with a bow. 

“ I know what I will do,” said I at length; 
“ I will call on the Duke of Marlborough.” 

Duke of Marlborough! ” he repeated, star- 
ing, and in this way I left him. 

Punctually at noon, with my freshest face, 
and putting behind me the shadow of my 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 53 


trouble, I presented myself again at the Duke’s 
house in Pall Mall, and sent my letter in to his 
Grace. Rows of simpering gallants, soldiers of 
all qualities, lawyers, money-changers, and 
hucksters of all kinds waited in the ante-rooms 
for audience. The great ensuing war with 
France had quickened the pulses of many 
ragged gentlemen, and many futures might be 
won, it was thought, according to the fortunes 
of the Queen’s army. 

The Duke being in town, I sat and waited 
in the long room with these many sorts of 
people, hopefully, for I knew it was the practice 
of his Grace of Marlborough to see every per- 
son who called on him, but it was well on in the 
afternoon before my turn came about. 

My name at last was called, and I followed 
the man into the inner room. This time the 
Duke was dressed in a somewhat foppish fash- 
ion, in a lilac flowered waistcoat, silver ruffles, 
and a dainty lace neck-cloth. Yet to come upon 
him was as if to be drawn into the presence of 
a magnet, and when I entered, as he looked at 
me in his quick way I felt that he recognized and 
remembered me; and I had a kind of joy in the 
thought, for such a rare intimacy could, as I 
reckoned, not easily be dissipated. 


54 


A LADY’S HONOR 


In a glance I saw that he was seated with his 
secretary at a long plain table with but one or 
two papers and a great silver ink-stand before 
him; and when I dared again to look I could 
read little in the stately placid features in which 
there was nothing of life but the bright eyes 
whose glance shot up at me under the heavy 
eyebrows. He was shaven clean, and oddly 
enough — seeing that I had in hand matters to 
myself of far greater importance — I noticed for 
the first time that he had a wart on his right 
upper lip. He made a sign to me as I entered 
as to where I was to stand, and forthwith I 
started to remind him of our situation twelve 
hours before, and of my own name and ambi- 
tions, and of my father’s service in the army. I 
spoke straight for some time and quickly too, 
for I knew I had to make what I could of my 
chances. 

Very calmly he listened, and heard me right 
through without a murmur of interruption, and 
with, too, I fancied, a kind of sympathy in his 
eyes as if he were, although my misfortune was 
not his affair, very sorry for me. It was extraor- 
dinary that he listened as if he had no daily 
business on hand other than his bath and din- 
ner, and that time to him was a matter of slight 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 55 

importance. Then as I stopped he busied him- 
self with mending with I thought extravagant 
care a broken-pointed quill pen, although at the 
same time others lay ready on the table. Then 
he commenced writing whilst I stood stiff before 
him, brave with hope and tingling at the telling 
of the tale. 

'' I sincerely congratulate you on your 
escape, Mr. Crighton,” he said at length in a 
very even voice. 

Respectfully I thank your Grace for your 
sympathy,” said I. 

Also I agree with you,” he continued, 
that this place you speak of is not of a repu- 
table sort, and that its frequenters cannot be 
considered honest.” 

This was not, however, the strain in which I 
reckoned the Duke would meet me, but J' ar- 
gued to myself, that he would come to the point 
in his own way. 

“ Legislation,” he went on, “ for some time 
past has made efforts — more or less futile — to 
check these infamous clubs. But, Mr. Crigh- 
ton, I must tell you at once that I am not a 
statesman — I am a simple soldier.” 

I fancy I was, in a way flattered at his so far 
taking me to his confidence, but, all the same, I 


56 


A LADY’S HONOR 


could see through it all that we were passing the 
turn of my interest. 

He continued: 

Let me remark at once that I have not any 
doubt but that your own conduct in this affair 
was in every view laudable and meritorious, and 
so much I will say to any one who should make 
enquiry of me.” 

“ I thank your Grace,” said I, ‘‘ for your 
kind intentions.” 

“ Colonel Adam Crighton, lad,” he pursued, 
whose name and service are well known to me, 
was a brave soldier, and I remember his face at 
Limerick. It is, however, our rule that soldiers’ 
sons should, of their own way, make their place 
in the wars. Your sense will see that to place 
you, as you perhaps expect, untrained and in- 
experienced, in a command of men would be 
for myself inexpedient, for others not just, and 
for yourself no true purpose of advancement. 
From a trooper your father cut his way; and 
times are before us now when many who idle 
in England may fight well in Europe. Will 
you not see, therefore,” he added with an 
enticing touch of confidence, ‘‘ that what is 
good for your father is good also for his 


MY STRAWS ARE BROKEN 


57 

'' I suppose so, my lord,” I replied shame- 
facedly. 

“ Then so let it be,” said he. “ I have seen 
you once, lad, and I will not forget you.” 

“ Once, my lord? ” said I, starting. 

'' For,” he pursued, and without remarking 
my interruption, “ it will appeal again to your 
sense that a fellow in a bad place will fly to any 
hope or duplicity to get himself out of it. What 
more natural then that our unfortunate friend, 
in the strait you have told me of, should pass 
himself to be — a soldier? It is perhaps a par- 
donable masquerade, and I bear him no malice. 
What were my engagements last evening, Har- 
ney? ” he added, turning to his secretary who 
was sitting near him. 

'' At eight your Grace dined with the Duke 
of York, and afterwards attended a levee at the 
Horse Guards,” the other recited in a mechan- 
ical voice. 

At this, in my distress, I was almost beside 
myself. I had heard from my father of the du- 
plicity of Marlborough, but that, for this small 
matter, he should be at such ends to hush it up, 
baffled and puzzled me. I suspected that the 
Duke, with his usual circumspection, regarded 
our familiarity as already too far advanced, and 


58 


A LADY’S HONOR 


he wished at any hazard to dispose of me. Thus 
I stood for some moments, he waiting at his 
desk in a kind of sympathetic way, with a 
ragged map and a paper before him, and Har- 
ney, his secretary, writing hard the while. 

“ I met you, my lord,” I cried at length with 
flaming cheeks, for it cut me to the raw to be 
presented as a sort of blackmailer, “ I met you 
in the cellar of the Red Bodice. I fought with 
you ’gainst the rufflans there, and by the mercy 
of God we escaped. If you desire the occasion 
forgotten, it is for your Grace so to determine.” 

'' But I have never seen you before, lad,” he 
said, looking at me with clear, steady eyes. 

And I know not how I found my way to the 
street. 


CHAPTER V 

FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 

** Journeys end in lovers meeting, 

Every wise man’s son doth know.” 

Here then, with a vengeance, were my 
hopes brought to the dead stop, and it was with 
a very frozen feeling that I came again into the 
sunshine. To one in trouble fine weather ap- 
peals as a gross form of irony, and I think I 
would have welcomed a rainfall or a muggy mist 
in a true affinity of spirit. The cut of my luck, 
in a single day, had placed the Duke at the back 
of my hopes and my cousin Katherine in the 
arms of what I felt to be a beer-sodden German 
husband. True, the latter might be a brave sol- 
dier with attractive manners, and towards 
Katherine nothing but tenderness and devotion. 
He might be virtuous, talented, pious and mus- 
cular for all I cared, and had he been the Angel 
Gabriel I had still wished him in the deep sea. 

My father being dead, as I had now written 
5 59 


6o 


A LADY’S .HONOR 


to inform her, I was, excepting our uncle, her 
single kith and kin, for her parents being dead 
too, she had no other relation. Of her affairs I 
knew little, except that her home was with the 
Countess Vanburton in Antwerp. As for the 
matter of the Duke of Marlborough, this was 
not, in the thinking, so much a puzzle after all. 
It was clear as glass that he would be shot of 
me. His alibi was the merest trifling, seeing I 
had ridden home by his side, and with his sol- 
diers seen his Duchess kiss his lips. Neverthe- 
less, it would be unwise to give him further 
thought, seeing his obvious desire to have done 
with me. 

Immersed in these miserable ruminations, I 
reached the corner turning to the Park, when 
a hand dropped on to my shoulder, and I stared 
up into the ugliest face I had ever seen. Two 
restless red eyes were set into a crimson coun- 
tenance, and under a nose, which was a mere 
smudge of flesh, was a long slit of a mouth 
turned up at one end by what I judged to be a 
saber cut. He was in the uniform of the Scots 
Greys, with a mound of stripes on his shoulder, 
and a jaunty cap was set on a head so perfectly 
bald that a portion of shining skull, polished like 
a kitchen vessel, was plain to be seen around it. 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 6i 

“ Who’s for the army? ” said he in a grating 
voice. 

I begged his pardon, and remarked that I 
had not addressed him. At another time I 
might have been tempted to other means, but 
at present I was very down in my spirits. 

“ Do you take me for a shark? ” said he. 

“ No, for a soldier,” said I. 

“A soldier it is,” he answered; “a brave, 
swaggering soldier, whose trade is the merriest 
and choicest in the world. Such a trade as 
would suit you, my lad,” he added. 

‘‘Think so?” said I. 

“Ay,” he returned cheerily; “and now is 
the time for a sparking lad to point a musket or 
trail a pike in Flanders, and win perhaps a com- 
mission for himself and glory for his Queen.” 

“ As well as a shilling for himself? ” I sug- 
gested. 

“ Yes,” said the sergeant, with a grin which 
opened up a prospect of broken black teeth, 
“ and I have the very coin in my pocket.” 

“Steady,” said I; “there is no sort of 
hurry.” 

Drinking any liquor is proclaimed, doubtless 
with much worldly wisdom, to be a woeful bad 
habit, but as a means of fixing a man’s un- 


62 


A LADY’S HONOR 


clinched resolutions, oiling rusty tongues, and 
for putting our resolutions, for a certainty, on 
one or other side of the hedge, it is an elixir 
of small price and great utility. However this 
may be, to a liquor whose flavor was execrable 
I owe the fact that I left the mug-house to which 
we had made our way the richer by a shilling, 
and on my shoulders the honor and responsibili- 
ties of a trooper in Her Majesty’s Scots Greys. 

That same night I was bundled on board a 
hired brig lying off the wharves at London 
Bridge, and passed the night with some hun- 
dreds of other recruits in a foul-smelling ’tween- 
deck. The hatches were battened down, and we 
were without ventilation and without light save 
for one or two sputtering oil lamps in the last 
stage of dilapidation. The air was thick with 
the fumes of foul tobacco and the floor, where- 
on we had to find our bed, was strewn with 
swords, boots, and the fragments of supper. 
We sailed the next morning, when there was a 
fair wind; but the next day out we struck heavy 
weather, and for a week lay beating about the 
North Sea, the ship alive with scurvy and dis- 
comfort, and I sick to the soul of my first taste 
of soldiery. In April in the year 1708 we 
reached Antwerp. 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 63 

An immense camp had been pitched on the 
outside of the town and some thousands of men 
— both seasoned soldiers and raw recruits — were 
employed in the practices of war and in gos- 
siping at the rumored French advance on Ghent 
and Bruges. Wounded men dribbled in from 
skirmishes and small engagements, and one de- 
tached side of our camp was entirely set aside 
for the purpose of receiving them. I stumbled 
upon the place soon after my arrival, for I learnt 
that here, from wounded soldiers and stragglers, 
the latest battle news was to be obtained. Here 
I found heaps of sacks and saddles in great dis- 
order, and sentries parading round at regular in- 
tervals. A wide circle of tents had been pitche^i, 
and at a little space apart a larger tent with all 
its walls hooked up. Soldiers were brought in 
polyglot from many regiments, their faces cov- 
ered with sweat and dust and burnt brown-red 
by the sun; some returned with their tunics and 
shirts stiff with blood; all were keen to joke, 
and cheered each other in their pain. Great 
heaps of rifles had been stacked, and the ground 
was littered with panniers, cooking pots, and 
mud-stained helmets. Men were sprawling on 
the ground nursing shattered arms and legs; 
some with slighter hurts and decorated with 


64 


A LADY’S HONOR 


splints and slings lounged about smoking. 
Some had their boots unlaced, some their 
tunics unbuttoned, most their brave uniforms 
all tarnished and splashed. The ground was 
frequently parched and trampled bare by 
many feet, and in some parts stained with 
dark red patches. Yet though many with pit- 
iful white faces lay prone on pillows made up 
of helmets stuffed with a boot, many cheer- 
fully limped and hopped about and sucked at 
their pipes and blasphemed — a good-humored 
crew. 

This evening I found the officer with whom 
I had my business, and was passing the larger 
tent which was set up some little distance from 
the others, when I came upon a figure in the 
open bending over a bucket. As I approached 
he turned his face towards me, and I noticed 
that his face and arms were splashed with blood. 
Then he raised a shout : 

“ My little one,” he cried; “ it’s pure delight 
to see you again.” 

It’s Cathcart,” said I, holding out my 

hand. 

“ I can’t shake hands,” he rattled on; I am 
a dresser in the operating tent, and I am remov- 
ing the evidences of my trade. You are a 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 65 

fighter, I perceive — well, at present I am only 
a camp-follower.’" 

“ You prefer this to the town? ” I asked. 

Cathcart made a gesture of despair. “ I 
have not spoken to a lady for a week,” he said; 
“ I marvel I survive. Have you called on your 
cousin? ” he added civilly. 

“ Not yet,” I answered. 

'' Yours is an Arctic spirit, indeed,” returned 
Cathcart; “ but you remember our wager.” 

“ What wager? ” I asked. 

“ That I would be your cousin’s friend,” 
said he. 

Ah, I am bearing that in my mind,” I an- 
swered seriously. 

As we were talking, there suddenly arose a 
commotion in the camp. First there were 
bugles; then the guard turned out, and such of 
the wounded as were able flung themselves to 
attention. We heard whispers of “ The Duke — 
the Duke,” and even Cathcart straightened him- 
self from his tub. At the head of half-a-dozen 
officers, Marlborough rode into the camp. In 
spite of his political troubles at home, and his 
great military responsibilities, there was no 
mark of trouble on his face. He glanced in a 
kind way over the camp and the wounded sol- 


66 


A LADY’S HONOR 


diers, with the shadow of an observing smile 
over his lips. As he passed quite close to me I 
heard him mutter to his horse, as it pulled at his 
wrist, his favorite “ Silly, silly,’’ as I remembered 
he had whispered to me in the cellar of the Red 
Bodice. 

Riding a little back from his side, clad in a 
dark semi-military uniform, was a little plump 
man in a periwig. His quick eyes flickered rest- 
lessly in his head. As the party rode past where 
Cathcart and I were standing, the Duke turned, 
and I heard him say, You should dismount. Sir 
Peter”; and in a second the little man had 
bounced from his horse, and the others rode 
away through the camp. I asked Cathcart who 
this officer might be. 

‘‘ Inspector-General of Hospitals, I should 
say,” he answered; ‘'but I have never seen the 
gentleman before.” 

As the doctor handed his horse to an or- 
derly, I walked straight before him. “ Uncle,” 
said I, “ allow me to present myself.” (I had 
recognized Dr. Peter Crighton at my first 
glance.) He started round towards me, and 
looked me up and down. 

“ You are a ranker, I suspect, nephew,” 
said he. 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 67 


But one who would wish to be beholden 
for your influence,” said I, with a bow. 

“ I shall endeavor to recollect your serv- 
ices, nephew,” he retorted drily, and walked 
over to where my friend was standing. Cath- 
cart had finished his ablutions at the tub, and 
was cleaning his nails with a pair of surgical 
scissors. 

“ Sirrah,” called Sir Peter (I discovered 
afterwards that my uncle had been knighted 
previous to his departure for Europe, and I 
could see my uncle's face flame as he ap- 
proached), “ what the devil are you doing? ” 

“ I am making myself presentable to receive 
your lordship,” was the answer. 

My uncle was now within a yard of Cathcart, 
and I had closely followed. “ You are aware,” 
said Sir Peter in his cold, quiet way, “ that you 
are misusing an instrument of science. Your 
next office might be to remove a bandage from 
a limb. As a consequence, it is not impossible 
that you might set up a gangrene or mortifica- 
tion in a wound which otherwise would have 
healed.” He called to an orderly. “ Request 
the officer of the guard to spare me a moment 
of his time.” 

I stood at a little distance waiting curiously 


68 


A LADY’S HONOR 


until that officer appeared, which he did very 
soon. 

“ This man,” my uncle then remarked, 
pointing to Cathcart, ‘‘ has been guilty of the 
grossest professional negligence. According to 
the powers permitted me by his Grace, I recom- 
mend that he be flogged; and I request that you 
approve this punishment.” 

“ I will make myself responsible. Sir Peter,” 
the officer answered. 

The flogging of my friend is not an affair to 
dwell upon, but flogged he assuredly was that 
same evening at sunset by a brawny corporal 
of my own regiment. Cathcart received two 
dozen on the broad of his back, and a handful of 
salt as his quota of sympathy; and he never 
cried out. Afterwards they marched him to the 
guard-tent and gave him beer. As for my uncle, 
he had merely nodded to me and departed. 

Cathcart in a very few days, however, had 
recovered so far that he was about on his work 
again, and he immediately suggested we should 
call on my cousin, to which proposition I was 
eager to assent. I had been in Antwerp a fort- 
night, expecting every day to be drafted to the 
front, and I hope it was my country breeding, 
and not any poverty of spirit which kept me so 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 69 

long from her door. Anyhow, I was pleased to 
have my friend at my side to lend me counte- 
nance. 

With difficulty we obtained a leave of three 
hours, and set out to find the house of the Coun- 
tess Vanburton, which was no hard task, as the 
lady was well known, she being a friend of the 
Princess Eugene, and her husband in the em- 
ploy of the great Duke. We crossed several 
little bridges, and came to a tall gray house, 
very plain of feature, but promising many com- 
fortable qualities. 

At the door Cathcart, turning, said, Adam, 
I say, are you a believer in first impressions? ” 

“ In a way,” I answered. 

'' Agree with me then,” he returned, “ that 
we do not — say for five minutes — betray to the 
lady which of the two is the ruffian and which 
the relation.” 

“ Blood tells,” I observed sententiously. 

“ Then you agree? ” said Cathcart. 

“ All right,” said I, and pulled the bell. 

Now it happened that the apartment in 
which my cousin was to receive us extended over 
the whole of the first floor and looked out upon 
the canal. Therein were arrays of stiff gilt 
chairs, with settees like sentinels, stationed at 


70 


A LADY’S HONOR 


irregular intervals, and distinguished persons in 
great gilt frames smirked and frowned from the 
walls. To find my cousin was like looking for 
a blossom in a history book. I suspected we 
had entered by a door other than my cousin 
had expected us from, for in a few moments a 
lady from another direction came running 
across the floor towards us. We stood apart, 
Cathcart smiling, and I all grave. I was trem- 
bling in spite of my brave uniform. I only re- 
member now a figure in some light cool stuff, 
a pair of shining eyes, and tender parted lips. 
She came quickly forward, and in one move- 
ment lifted both her hands to Cathcart’s shoul- 
ders and kissed him on the cheek, he making a 
step to meet her, and crying “ Oh Adam, how 
glad I am to see you! ” 

How I cursed the misfortune which had 
made me agree to Cathcart’s proposition, but 
promise or no promise, at once I burst out, 
“ I’m your cousin, Kate, not he.” Then fol- 
lowed a silence which to at least two of us was 
greatly painful, Katherine standing with a flam- 
ing scarlet face and I most sheepishly. 

Then,” said she, “ who is this gentleman? ” 
‘‘ This,” said I, is my friend Mr. Reginald 
Cathcart.” 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 71 


Katherine coldly inclined her head. 

I stared into a huge bowl of blue poppies 
with unutterable reflections. Said Katherine, 
after what appeared a great time: 

Well, Adam, I suppose you meant it for a 
quip, and we shouldn’t quarrel after being this 
long while parted.” 

“ It was a charming mistake,” Cathcart in- 
terposed; “but one I have now entirely forgot- 
ten,” he added quickly. 

“ As I have,” added Katherine in a kind of 
grateful way. 

My cousin then retreated behind the frontier 
of conventional courtesy. “ My husband and I 
hope sincerely that your stay in Belgium will be 
a pleasant one. Anything either of us can do 
to make it so — as Adam is aware ” (here for the 
first time she turned to me), “ we shall think it 
our glad privilege.” 

“ We had hoped to have met your husband,” 
said I. 

“ To-day,” she answered, “ the Count is not 
well enough to see anyone — except myself.” 

“ If your husband is unwell, I am sorry,” I 
replied. 

“ My husband,” Katherine answered slowly, 
“ is unfortunately an invalid,” 


72 


A LADY’S HONOR 


At this time a diversion came about by the 
entrance of an elderly lady, with very beautiful 
gray hair, and a stately manner. Straight to 
me she made, in a frank kind way saying, “ Oh, 
this, I suppose, is the Mr. Adam Crighton.” I 
fancied, as we were by Katherine formally pre- 
sented to the Countess Vanburton, that she 
glanced at Cathcart with a slight suspicion. 
However, she welcomed us both with heartiness, 
and fell to talking to me in one place, whilst 
Cathcart and Katherine sat together in an- 
other. 

The Countess asked me of our position in 
the army, at which I explained that we were, as 
she might see by our condition, simple trocfpers 
in the Greys, but that we hoped to fight our way 
to better things. I told her readily of my 
father’s death, of my friend, and of myself, for 
she had the gift of sympathy in her steady eyes. 
Then after a while she told me — that which I 
was most anxious to hear — of my cousin and her 
-affairs. 

“ Your cousin’s marriage came as a surprise 
to you, Mr. Crighton? ” she asked. 

I was unprepared,” I admitted. Was it 
a grand wedding? ” I asked. 

It was a very sad one,” she answered. 


FIRST ACQUAINTANCES 73 

‘‘ They were friends merely when he went to 
the war; at least, she would have it so.” 

“ And afterwards? ” I asked. 

‘‘ Well, afterwards,” she said, “ the Count 
came home sorely wounded — broken in health, 
and an invalid — and she married him.” The 
Countess rose, and we could hear the two talk- 
ing gaily across the room. They came together 
towards us, Cathcart a step or two in the rear, 
his hands clasped behind him. I thought them 
an uncommonly handsome couple. I am go- 
ing to offer you each a blossom,” said Kath- 
erine, as a promise of your good fortune.” 

We will hold it in our hands back to 
camp,” said I ; “ there is no button-hole in a 
uniform.” 

But Cathcart was before the time. He had 
slipped out his penknife, made a slit in his regi- 
mental tunic, and slipped in the spray — it was 
white lilac. I could see Katherine’s eyes sparkle 
with pleasure as she gave him her hand. 


CHAPTER VI 

A PLUNGE FROM A STONE JETTY 

All during our journey back to camp, Cath- 
cart regaled me with praises of my cousin. 

“ Take the grace of a summer day, the mod- 
esty of a sister of mercy, the beauty of a love 
dream, and the temper of a gipsy — and that 
were Katherine,” said he. 

“ Whom did you say? ” I asked. 

Katherine,” he answered gaily. 

^^You are very well acquainted,” I re- 
marked. 

'' Great friends,” said he. 

‘‘ But hardly civil manners, do you think, 
to call her names? ” I questioned. 

'' Barely, perhaps,” he admitted. 

'' You forget, besides, that the lady is mar- 
ried,” I observed. 

“ Rather,” he returned, '' I am most aptly 
reminded of it.” He smiled. “ You in the mat- 
ter appear unconcerned,” he continued. 

74 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 75 


“ Well,” I rather rudely retorted, that’s 
hardly your business.” 

“ If I admit I am a most ill-mannered per- 
son,” he replied, “ I am still caring to see my 
friends happy.” 

‘‘ A most virtuous reflection, truly,” I re- 
marked. 

“ No,” he insisted, “ it is my simple good 
nature.” 

“ It must be a heavy burden for a sore back,” 
said I. 

But even this allusion to his recent flogging, 
which might properly be reckoned a sore point, 
could not disturb his good humor, and we 
parted to our different places — I not at all 
pleased with my afternoon’s work, and he with 
a merry adieu. But, as it turned out, there was 
no sleep for me that night. There were nine of 
us in our tent, and we were all at the point of 
fitting ourselves to the ground — heads and tails 
— in our blankets when a bald head thrust itself 
in through the tent flap, and a great creaking 
voice I knew roared, “Corporal Crighton 
wanted.” (I had, by the way, now received my 
stripes.) It was the voice and the head of my 
old enlisting sergeant, Simmons, and I slipped 
on my tunic and tumbled out. 

6 


76 


A LADY’S HONOR 


The Duke has sent for you, my son,'' said 
he, as we hurried off, “ whether to have you 
hanged or made a Brigadier I am not sure." 

“ If the latter, it is a bad look-out for you," 
I remarked. 

How so? " he asked. 

“ I should enter you down daily for pack drill 
— full marching order in the sun," said I. “ You 
brought me to this dreadful trade," I added. 

“ And now an old soldier has to respectfully 
request a young mewling child to follow him," 
he said. I can't think what the devil the Duke 
should want with you that I could not do better 
myself." 

“ Most likely to offer me a present, do you 
think? " I asked. 

Do you know when his Grace gave away 
a sixpence? " he returned. “ There is a true 
story," he went on, “ that once he won a six- 
pence of a Dean at cards, but the Dean had with 
him but a guinea and no change. Well, his 
Grace insisted that change should be sent for, as 
he said he must use his winnings to pay his chair 
to the Ball. After much trouble the guinea was 
changed, and the sixpence paid; but after all the 
Duke was seen to walk home with spirit to save 
the sixpence on the chair." 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 77 


By this time we had reached the great 
double marquee which the Duke used both as 
his business- and his bed-chamber. As yet I 
had never seen its interior, although I had often 
passed the two tall sentries who were for ever on 
guard at its entrance. We gave our business to 
one soldier, who made his way straight through 
to the inner tent, whilst I (my sergeant having 
made off) waited, with my body just inside the 
outer wall, watching the faint flicker of light 
within. 

In a few moments the man reappeared and 
signed for me to enter, and fell back close-heeled 
to his post as I passed in. As I came into the 
inner tent I saw the Duke snuffing out a candle, 
judging, I suppose, that of the two before burn- 
ing one would be sufficient for our interview. 
The ground was covered with wooden boards, 
roughly laid, which, as he now walked upon 
them to and fro in front of his camp bedstead, 
gave out a hollow and melancholy sound. His 
face seemed to have lost some of the brightness 
I had before seen there, although, such was his 
impassiveness, none could thereupon identify 
anxiety. Yet affairs at the present were bad 
enough. Ghent and Bruges had been taken by 
the enemy. Oudenarde had been invested. 


78 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Offensive operations, moreover, were made diffi- 
cult, both by the Cabinet at home and the 
Dutch deputies abroad. Prince Eugene’s say- 
ing had become common talk in the army. I 
suspect,” he had said, “ that if Alexander the 
Great had been obliged to await the approba- 
tion of the Dutch deputies before he executed 
his projects, that his conquests would not have 
been so rapid as they were.” 

Well, I waited now until the Duke might 
speak. “ Corporal Crighton,” he said, stopping 
short in his walk, “ I have an undertaking I wish 
to engage you in.” 

“ It is for your Grace to determine,” said I, 
in what particular I can be of service.” 

“ I do not care for speeches,” he replied 
shortly. * 

I bowed in rather a shamefaced manner, 
thinking this a bad start. 

'' What you have to do is this,” he con- 
tinued. I have just received intelligence that 
His Highness Prince Eugene, with his cavalry, 
is at Maastricht, which is perhaps eighty miles 
distant from Antwerp. You will take a message 
to the Prince. Also, you will carry a despatch, 
which is written in opposite terms to the mes- 
sage. The despatch you will allow to be taken 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 79 

from you, if possible, near Tirlemont, which is 
situated before you cross the river to Maastricht. 
You will proceed via Brussels. Your difficulties 
will arise after leaving Tirlemont. It will be 
best to take no horses. Mark, it is advisable 
that the despatch should be taken, but it is 
essential that the message should be delivered. 
Your desire to achieve the former should not 
imperil any opportunity to encompass the lat- 
ter. Take this paper now, and learn the mes- 
sage at my table,” and he pointed to a long table 
at one end of the tent. 

I took the paper and a seat, and started to 
fix the words in my memory, which in the cir- 
cumstances was no easy matter, as the words 
started and darted before me like gnats. The 
Duke sat at one end of the table working upon 
a plan with a pencil, and looking very absorbed 
and intent. First I read through the message I 
had to deliver, which was brief. Then I glanced 
at the Duke, who was motionless except for an 
occasional movement of his pencil and a twitch- 
ing of his lips. His presence thwarted and dis- 
turbed me. If he had but permitted me to draw 
right away for a few simple minutes and con 
the words to myself, it would have been a task 
for a schoolboy, and a young one. But here I 


8o 


A LADY’S HONOR 


sat, with but a few feet of wood between myself 
and one I would have cut my throat to have 
been thought well by; yet before him in this 
crisis I appeared all eager and unstrung. His 
reputation sat upon him like a crown, but hung 
over me like a pall. His personality, that 
strange mixture of blandness and power, dis- 
tracted me even as the blare of bugles might a 
man at prayers before his execution. One 
candle glimmered on the table before us, and 
one end of the tent was sunk in a great gloom. 
Although he never looked at me after we had 
been seated, I could feel his perception dart 
through me and pick my thoughts as they fell. 

“ Go to the north end,” he said shortly at 
last; '' sit on the bed. It is an extravagance,” he 
added, but light the second candle.” 

I obeyed, and drew right away from him and 
sat on the bed, the paper on one knee and a 
candle on the other, and soon stamped the 
words on my mind. Then I came back and 
repeated them to him twice. 

‘‘ Inform Prince Eugene I am determined 
to risk an engagement to save Oudenarde. 
Dutch deputies still obdurate. Request him, if 
necessary, to leave his army behind and meet 
me at Brussels on June ist to confer with me 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 8i 


for the single object of overcoming the objec- 
tions of the Dutch. Tell him I am confident he 
will agree with me as to the necessity for fight- 
ing.” 

He heard me quietly through twice and then 
said : — 

'' You may select a comrade to accompany 
you, and to whom you may communicate the 
fact that you carry the despatch, but to whom 
only in the event of your being at the point of 
death, are you to inform of the terms of the 
message.” 

I asked what token I should show the 
Prince to prove my authority. 

“ If when you meet you will remark, * Im- 
perium in imperio,^ it will be sufficient,” he an- 
swered, and having handed me the counterfeit 
despatch, without further talk dismissed me. 

I came joyfully across the camp to tell Cath- 
cart, and finding him asleep awoke him, and 
forthwith gave him the news, and of course pro- 
claimed him my comrade in the expedition. 

'' Our first business,” said he, is to bid 
adieu to our cousin Katherine.” 

‘‘ It is nearly midnight — it is impossible; we 
start at once,” said I, as we set about our prep- 
arations. It was the night of the 28th May. 


82 


A LADY'S HONOR 


The road to Brussels was, we thought, at 
this time unmolested. Numbers of high- 
wheeled carts had been built, of a type designed 
to save their contents from destruction by water 
if by chance the enemy should demolish the 
dykes. These carts, protected by convoys, were 
used to carry stores between the coast towns 
and the theater of operations, and the road to 
Brussels in one of these was but a simple jour- 
ney. We cut through the town to the market- 
place, from whence these vehicles started and 
returned from their various undertakings, and 
on the way passed the house of the Baroness 
Vanburton. I started and looked up. 

“ Why, the windows are all lighted up,” I 
cried. 

As I spoke, a lady in a long traveling ulster, 
in which I recognized my cousin, came slowly 
down the center steps. On her arm was a gen- 
tleman, whom I judged to be her husband. He 
was slightly built, and seemed very sick. In the 
road a closed carriage waited. 

We came up together arm-in-arm, and — for 
we had changed into civilian clothes — stood 
with our caps in our hands, and after making our 
courtesies to my cousin, were duly presented to 
the Count, her husband. 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 83 


“ I perceive you are both deserters,” said 
Katherine, glancing at our civilian clothes. 

‘'We are on a duty,” said I soberly. 

“ I wish we could offer you entertainment,” 
the Count interpolated, “ but my physicians or- 
der me from this pestilent city, and the Countess 
and myself are journeying to Brussels,” and he 
smiled in that defiantly cheerful way in which 
an invalid looks forward to a place no better 
than the last. 

By this time we had reached the carriage 
steps. 

“ We, too, have been ordered to Brussels,” 
said Cathcart. 

“ Then let us give you a lift — if you will 
endure the seats outside,” said the Count. 

“ Do put up with them,” said Katherine 
politely. 

“ Will you leave your coachman behind and 
let me drive you into Brussels? ” inquired Cath- 
cart. 

“ You will be careful not to jolt by husband,” 
said Katherine. 

“ Assuredly, madam,” returned Cathcart 
gravely. 

So Cathcart, having helped in the Countess 
and her husband with all the attentiveness be- 


84 


A LADY’S HONOR 


coming in his new position, we both clambered 
to the roof, and started off behind two eager 
chestnut horses. 

Although it was doubtless the whim of a sick 
man to start thus suddenly in the night for an- 
other town, the drive in the bright moonlight 
was a very pleasant one. The Count, I suppose, 
was sleeping, and I could hear Katherine sing- 
ing in a low sweet voice: 

“ Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 

Old time is still a-flying : 

And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow will be dying.” 

It was flat country through which we were 
driving, with a long white road lying ahead, like 
a ribbon through a carpet. We had been driv- 
ing perhaps three hours when on the horizon 
shone the purple of another day. Cathcart con- 
stantly asked me questions about the despatch 
(of the existence of which I had informed him), 
whither we were to go, and to whom it was to 
be delivered; but I made reply to nothing except 
to counsel him to be patient, and that he would 
discover sufficient in good time. That the de- 
spatch was to be captured and a message deliv- 
ered (which I was at that moment repeating in 
my mind, and of which he was to know nothing). 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 85 


of course I made no mention. Then my cousin’s 
clear voice broke in again: 

“ Then be not coy, but use your time, 

And while ye may, go marry. 

For having lost but once your prime. 

Ye may for ever tarry.” 

Now she stopped suddenly, and leaning her 
head out from the carriage window called to 
me, Adam, did you hear any sound? ” 

No, madam,” I replied, but as I looked up 
I fancied I saw some snatches of light far away 
on our right, but I only judged this to have 
some relation to the coming daylight. 

We were approaching the cross-roads; one 
led to Brussels, and the other circuitously to 
Tirlemont. Suddenly there broke out along the 
Brussels road the sound of galloping. At once 
Cathcart turned the horses’ heads towards 
Tirlemont, and lashed them to run harder. 
Voices in the distance roared to us to stop, and 
shots sped upon us along the road. To be cap- 
tured at this moment was to be cut off at the 
beginning of high hopes, but to go on was to 
imperil lives over which we had not the smallest 
right. Cathcart settled the question for me by 
pulling the horses to a walk. At the same mo- 
ment a troop of French cavalry galloped out 


86 


A LADY’S HONOR 


from the Brussels road. We had now stopped 
dead, and I turned and saw the carriage door 
open, and the Count on his stick step out to 
meet the officer at their head. In his hand he 
held a paper, which I supposed to be a pass. He 
had doubtless requested Katherine to be seated, 
and now with his free hand signed for us also to 
keep our places. But as the French officer dis- 
mounted to meet the Count a further distrac- 
tion occurred. The sound of an English march- 
ing tune floated up the road — it was a battalion 
on the way to Brussels. The music stopped, a 
volley of musketry fell among the French, 
emptying several saddles, and then, all of a sud- 
den, we saw the Count fall on his stick into the 
dust of the road. As he fell he clapped his hand 
to his forehead where the bullet struck him, and 
he must have been instantly killed. Imme- 
diately Cathcart whipped his horses, and flung 
along towards Tirlemont, the French too busi- 
ly engaged to follow. Katherine screamed, 
“Stop! stop the coach! my husband! my hus- 
band! ’’ The carriage door swung loosely too 
and fro, and I have no doubt but that she would 
have sprung out into the road, but that her call- 
ing ceased suddenly, and I think she must have 
fallen in a swoon. 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 87 

Now Tirlemont was our side of the River 
Geete, and the Duke had said it was the last 
place on my journey at which I could expect to 
meet any friendliness. I knew I must in a meas- 
ure be responsible for this kidnapping, but my 
duty being to go onward I could hardly insist 
on the carriage being stopped and so risk fur- 
ther delays. We could not leave a lady on the 
road, and I argued that Katherine could be sent 
back from Tirlemont to Brussels, and as her hus- 
band was dead she could do no good in weep- 
ing for him. Indeed, I took the reins from 
Cathcart’s hands as we crawled along the road 
behind our tired horses, and on the open door 
he swung himself down inside to Katherine. I 
could only hear her sob and a^k of him, Where 
is my husband? oh, where is my husband? ” 
again and again, and then he closed the door. 

The horses, however, were now dead beat, 
and we made little progress. I looked at my 
map and fancied we were about ten miles from 
Tirlemont, and I was at the point of gathering 
the horses for a final burst into the town. It 
had now become quite daylight. Small towns 
changed hands so frequently in the course of the 
war that I was not, as a fact, surprised when 
at a turn of the road I heard a French bugle call. 


88 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Tirlemont, then, was French. I pulled up the 
horses and leaped to the ground. As the car- 
riage stopped, Cathcart thrust his head from the 
window, and called, “ Your cousin is asleep. 
What’s the matter? ” 

“ Tirlemont is French,” I replied, ‘‘ and there 
must be no more driving.” 

I leaped to the ground, and we awoke Kath- 
erine. “ There is little time for excuses,” said I, 
‘‘we must go on. You might drive back to 
Brussels with these horses, but I am afraid they 
will not last another five miles.” (They were 
both panting deep and smoking.) “ Will you 
stay here with Mr. Cathcart? I must cross the 
river,” and I pointed to the Geete which lay 
shining in the south. 

“ No,” she said after a moment; “ let us all 
go through together.” 

My position now was a difficult one. I did 
not care to leave Cathcart and Katherine to- 
gether. In the first place, because my cousin 
did not wish it; and secondly, although Cath- 
cart was my friend, it did not follow that I had 
confidence in him as the protector of a lady for 
whom I had great regard. And, above all, my 
duty was to allow my despatch to be captured 
in or near Tirlemont, and then push straight on 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 89 

and deliver my message to the Prince at 
Maastricht. It was now the 29th May, and 
the meeting at Brussels should be on the ist 
June. My quandary, therefore, was to recon- 
cile these many particulars, and without neglect- 
ing my duty to consider how I could protect a 
gentlewoman through the unpleasant times we 
might be called to overcome. Now at any mo- 
ment we might be taken by detached French 
soldiery, when, although the first part of my 
mission — the capture of the despatch — would be 
accomplished, it would certainly put a stop on 
all my hopes of getting to Maastricht. At this 
time I told her that I had seen her husband shot 
in the forehead, and that therefore his death 
must have been painless. She received this 
news quietly, for, in the circumstances of her 
marriage, it could not be expected that she 
should be stricken with grief. 

We made our way on foot across some 
broken fields to the river-edge, and set to search 
for a boat. As the river was frequently used for 
transit, we soon found a small dingey. When, 
however, we all climbed in, it showed such evi- 
dent signs of unsteadiness that it was arranged 
that Cathcart should scull my cousin over and 
then return for me. I stood and saw them make 


90 


A LADY’S HONOR 


their way safely across, but the banks on the 
other side were steep, and they had to make 
their passage along for some hundred yards be- 
fore finding a place possible to land upon. Just, 
however, as he was handing the lady ashore, I 
was espied by some dismounted French dra- 
goons, who, I suppose, had been sent into the 
fields to dig potatoes with their shovels, and I 
at once started to run along my side of the 
river, they at my heels. 

Soon I flung myself forward into the open 
country, as Cathcart showed no sign of return- 
ing with the boat. There was no cover of any 
sort — neither trees, nor scrub, nor gorse, noth- 
ing but on the one side the plain open country, 
and on the other the shining river. 

Being a runner of some talent, I thought at 
once to distance my pursuers, who were now in 
full cry, but the events of the past day were 
poor training for my wind and condition. I ran 
in so ragged a fashion, and was so impeded by 
the heavy boots I wore, that I thought I must 
soon be caught, and had even considered with 
what terms I might rid myself of the despatch, 
and bargain, I hoped, for my freedom. But as I 
ran, feebly though it seemed, they appeared in 
no way to gain on me. 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 91 

Even now I remember the pain of body I 
was in. The heat on my face, the straining in 
my legs and ankles, and the dreadful stitch in 
my side. I had run, I suppose, for twenty 
minutes when I heard some sharp words of com- 
mand, and immediately a musket bullet came 
singing past me. I do not think at the time I 
cared greatly whether the man hit me or missed 
me, so dispirited was I in my pain, and in such 
utter anguish of body. However, the bullet 
went speeding away on my right, and I came 
to a lane which led me again to the river-side, 
although. Heaven knows, I had now no more 
hope to find refuge there than on the open coun- 
try. Perhaps I was in that despair of mind 
when there is no thought but that your present 
mischance should come to an end, and that 
which comes next you care not. 

However this may be, I know that somehow 
in a flash hope came to me as I swung into this 
lane (now with a good wind and a round pace), 
and I made back for the river at a fairer speed 
and spirits than heretofore. 

Behind me the cries marked out more 
definite and clear, and I made no doubt they 
were moving nearer. And I marveled how, so 
heavily accoutered with muskets and steel and 
7 


92 


A LADY’S HONOR 


headgear, they could run so well, or I, alack, so 
ill. There were no more bullets now, and I sup- 
posed that the idea of shooting was given up, 
and that they, thinking me a spy, were deter- 
mined on having me alive. 

As I neared the bank they could not have 
been a hundred yards behind, for I could hear 
their cries quite plain, their great boots scrunch, 
and their heavy scabbards drag over the stones. 

Then, God knows how, I started running 
hard along the broken river flats, with a breeze 
blowing across my face, and this pack at my 
heels. Once I fell on my knees, and then there 
was a shout, for they were sure they had me; 
but I was up again in the moment with smart- 
ing cuts on my shins, and something of the 
devil in my heart. I was so close to the 
water, in which there must have been salt, that 
now and again it fell on my lower limbs, 
and found out the cuts and scrapes I had 
gathered in my flight, and set them all biting 
and smarting. 

Thus, struggling on, I came to a stone jetty, 
but long unused and fallen to ruin. Its great 
stones in some places had fallen out, and rusty 
girders and crags of rock were strewn about, in 
all a perilous footing. It must have been some 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 93 

ten feet broad and twenty feet high, with holes 
between the stones where the water lapped, and 
green slime and rotten wood and river weeds 
were everywhere. 

I heard the men cursing behind me, as on my 
hands and knees, crawling like a bear, I led 
them up by a pitiful path. I had made but a 
yard or two when I heard the breathing of a 
man at my heels. He too had climbed to the 
jetty. 

It was broad sunlight, so that they might 
have shot me dead if they had wished. I know 
as I turned my head I saw the foremost stand 
wondering, and then I dropped into a great 
space between the rocks as he came forward. 
(There was, I remember, a good foot of water at 
the bottom, which set my scrapes stinging 
again.) 

He worked on — I saw him, a great bluff 
man, in a brave uniform — hesitating and peer- 
ing about. (I daresay he had no more liking for 
the business than I had.) So he came on, never 
thinking I was near, until suddenly I swung my- 
self to my feet, and with my fist and heel settled 
him, in that he dropped backwards among his 
comrades. They fell in a pretty puddle, sprawl- 
ing over him, and kicking and stabbing among 


94 


A LADY’S HONOR 


themselves as if the devil himself were among 
them. 

But for myself, my time was nearly come. 

In this tussle I had possessed myself of the 
fellow’s musket, and started again, turning my 
ankles in agony as I strove to make the head 
of the jetty. There I stood at' last, waiting for 
them to come on, and feeling for one moment 
mighty fine and heroic. 

Yet I had small occasion to plume myself. 
For with this company before me any fighting 
was ridiculous. Still, I swung the weapon be- 
fore me with good spirit, and waited for them to 
come on. They came at all the pace they could 
muster, with their ring bayonets at the ready; 
but when they were within two yards something 
told me that this was a business in which I could 
find no profit, and as this thought came into me, 
I dropped my despatch on the stones, flung my 
musket at the foremost of them, turned my 
back, and plunged into the river. 

Perhaps the sensation of sheering through 
twenty feet of air into deep and cold water 
brought the idea that, after all, little advantage 
remained to me even in this change of enterprise. 
In any way my shadowy project of swimming 
across to the south side and finding a hiding 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 95 


came to nothing. For no sooner was I kicking 
out in deep water, and the shock of the cold 
penetrated my clothes, when the current slewed 
me round, and all swimming was hopeless. As 
for a moment my head struck the surface, I saw 
the party had reached the head of the jetty, pre- 
pared to shoot me when I should show myself. 
I could see the officer pointing about with his 
lace hat, and the eager faces of the men, and 
the touch of the sun on their musket-barrels. 
Then I seemed to fall into an eddy, for I was 
quite helpless, and I came under the wall of the 
jetty, gave a great gasp, and went under. I 
only remembered a rumbling like bubbles burst- 
ing in my ears, and a great stifling at my chest, 
and a certain feeling of loathing, that I should 
lie on the river’s bottom, and the fishes swim 
through me, when I came to the surface some- 
where, but with no sky above me, and a black 
darkness all around. Involuntarily I raised my 
arms, and catching some jagged pieces in my 
hands, trod water, and had the time to consider 
what had befallen me. 

The water was now something more than 
cold, my clothes flapped about my back, my 
teeth chattered in my head, and my body was 
stinging with the cuffs I had received. I think 


96 


A LADY’S HONOR 


I felt it most of all in my legs, notwithstanding 
I must constantly keep moving to be afloat at 
all. I groped about with one of my hands, and 
came upon what seemed like a roof of slime and 
weeds. I wondered all over, as the saying is, 
what had become of the sky. By dint of turning 
myself about, I found that the walls of the place 
were damp and slimy too. 

By this time the water was free from my 
ears, and at once the crack of firing came into 
them. Overhead I could hear the grinding of 
boot-heels, shoutings, hurryings, and cries of 
excitement. I thought perhaps they had 
sighted my cousin and Cathcart. 

At this I grew to comprehend my predica- 
ment. Carried under the jetty by the shore cur- 
rents, I had risen in a kind of trough or cavern, 
which ran along for some yards, through the 
inside of the jetty. By the greatest mercy I had 
risen in this part, else my brains had surely been 
dashed out at the stone. Above me were the 
green rocks, and all around me rocks too, but 
I was able to breathe freely and to look about 
me, and I gathered the courage to hope for bet- 
ter things. 

With this thought I tried to bring myself 
along the trough, and to this end dropped my 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 97 


arms back into the water and struck out with 
what spirit I was able. I could not have made 
my way for six yards before I struck my head 
against an overhanging rock, which, besides 
bringing me pain, told me that my journey, so 
far, was done. At the same time a great mist 
of sunlight came through some hole above, and 
I saw where my chances should be lying. 

From the occasional snap of a musket I 
could gather that the soldiers were still taking 
pot shots for the other side, but whether at my 
friends or my supposed self I could not decide. 
But I had most concern in the cold springs, 
which were terribly trying; and the feeling that 
I had no scheme at all for my own salvation. 

The cold, as I say, was by far the worst of it. 
Now and again my arms would fail me, and I 
would fall back into the water, when the shock 
of cold to my head sent me all burning with 
pain. Once or twice a river lizard crawled about 
my neck, and gave me a shudder of loathing. I 
have no means of knowing how long I stayed 
in this most pitiful plight, with the firing over- 
head and the water cold about me. I had been 
feeling along the rocks at the left side (that is, 
looking towards the piece which had marked 
my head with a sore swelling); and as at last 


98 


A LADY’S HONOR 


in this way I groped, my wrist dropped sud- 
denly, and my hand fell on a basin of soft sand 
almost level with the water, which, I made no 
doubt, ran out to the flats by the bank. To this 
place I endeavored with great joy to climb, but 
what with my weakness and my sodden clothing, 
this was for some time more than I could ac- 
complish. Three times I dragged myself to my 
shoulders, only to fall back again with a sick 
heart and a very weary body. Yet on the fourth 
attempt I managed to sustain my hold and more 
dead than alive, drag myself free of the water, 
and at last in utter weariness, flat as a star-fish 
fell on my back; and then I lost my senses. 

Cold winds blowing along the shore awoke 
me, and I was as stiff as a lath, and what with 
my hunger and thirst, and all those soddened 
clothes about me, I think I could have sobbed 
in my trouble. I looked out through the small 
opening and saw a long stretch of mud flats, 
broken here and there by a solitary windmill. 
Then the burden of my ill-luck came into me 
afresh, for I beat my hands against the sands 
until the blood came into my finger-nails, and 
screamed and swore in my distress. 

After I had behaved in this senseless fashion 
for several minutes, with no more profit than 


A PLUNGE FROM A JETTY 99 


sore hands, a mood succeeded wherein was a 
healthy desire to live and be myself again. 
With this I slipped again into the water and 
swam to the end of the trough where the sky 
showed through the great rent in the roofing, 
and, strengthened by my sleep, I found a footing 
without trouble, and climbed back again on to 
the rocks. 

Here I found little sign of struggle; but for 
here and there some patches of moss spoiled 
by a boot-heel, there was nothing to show what 
had passed before. 


LofC. 


CHAPTER VII 


CATHCART MAKES HAY AND BURNS HIS FINGERS 

I SWAM the river in the afternoon. I was 
still damp and very hungry (although I found 
some carrots in a field) ; but I must get to Maas- 
tricht. That place was still nearly forty miles 
away, through a country hostile and overrun 
with French soldiery; but I must get to 
Maastricht. The one part of my task I made 
no doubt I had accomplished, for surely they 
had found the despatch. The country now was 
a weary space of marshes and mud flats with 
here and there a windmill or a poor farm, more 
or less marked by the ravages of war. I drew 
out my map and tried to set myself a track. I 
was of course sorry for my cousin and Cathcart; 
but I must get to Maastricht, and I was my- 
self in a bad enough plight. The dusk had now 
fallen, but I could see about me for miles, and 
there was no figure in sight. To leave Kath- 
erine in this difficulty and in such company 

lOQ 


CATHCART MAKES HAY loi 


might seem a brutal thing to do; but I must get 
to Maastricht. 

Having then set myself a course, I walked 
steadily on, although my clothes were damp and 
I was in some pain. Any deserted cottage or 
small farm I came upon I looked vainly into 
in search of food. At nightfall, I was dead 
beat, and I came to a larger farmhouse, 
and finding in a barn a ladder to a loft, crawled 
along its rungs and dropped down in my clothes 
on a little straw in utter weariness and tried to 
sleep. 

Then came the rain. Lashing against the 
roof, it swished along the thatch, falling through 
in choice drops again into the warm of my 
neck. Outside, like a running river, I could 
hear the swish of the storm over the country. 
I lay and listened to the incessant drip of water 
from above. My situation was not one to envy, 
but I thanked my stars that I was no worse off. 
I was so hungry that I was glad to find food in 
the handfuls of maize which I found scattered 
on the floor. 

I suppose at last I slept, for I know I awoke 
with the sound of voices in my ears; and I 
slipped along the rafters and looked over into 
the barn. The rain had stopped. There was 


102 


A LADY’S HONOR 


then a great brightness of moonlight, and I had 
a view of a scene which astonished me. 

Katherine and Cathcart were seated on the 
shaft of a farmer’s trap; and as the shafts were 
rested on a great heap of broken muskets, they 
were on a perch which gave them swinging 
room a good foot from the ground. Katherine 
wore her favorite black silk stockings and 
buckled shoes with which she had started off on 
the drive, and Cathcart his usual air of non- 
chalance and ease, and he cocked an empty pipe 
in his teeth. 

Not the very least in the world,” Kath- 
erine was saying. 

“ Truly a gracious remark that,” said he. 

“ It is the truth, positively,” said the 
lady. 

“ Who would not be unscrupulous in a good 
cause? ” he asked. 

“ I of course the cause? ” she queried, 
smiling. 

“ It’s the buckles and the shoes and the silk 
socks I cannot get out of my thoughts,” he said, 
glancing down. 

“ What can they have to do with the mat- 
ter? ” said the lady. 

With what matter? ” he asked. 


CATHCART MAKES HAY 103 


With the matter of me,” replied the lady. 

“ I consider them,” he answered, “ as sym- 
bols of your sex. You will not deny that you 
are feminine.” Then a pause: 

“ What are you doing with your arm? ” 
asked the lady. 

It is situated so merely to emphasize what 
I am about to say,” came the reply. 

“ It is a misplaced emphasis,” said the lady, 
but I fancy that the arm remained. There was 
another pause. 

Do you not think that now we might 
start? ” said Katherine suddenly. 

It would be highly dangerous to do so,” 
said he. Why hurry? ” he added. 

“You see,” explained the lady, “the moon 
is going, and I think I do not wish to be with 
you in the dark.” 

“Nonsense!” said Cathcart. “You are 
frightened.” 

“ I fear nothing for myself,” said she; “ be- 
sides,” she added, “ we shall never know the 
time.” 

“ Assuredly we will,” said he gaily. 

“ How so? ” she asked. 

“ Why, by the clocks on your stockings,” 
he returned with a laugh. 


104 


A LADY’S HONOR 


You have long observation,” said Kath- 
erine. 

“ You have short skirts,” said he. 

‘‘ I am not at all sure,” said Katherine, “ that 
your speech is polite.” 

Speaking as a professed ascetic,” Cathcart 
commenced — “ I beg your pardon,” he said 
suddenly, and broke off short. 

“ I said nothing,” retorted the lady. 

‘‘ Then,” said Cathcart, “ in the privilege of 
my monastic mind I proclaim that a silk stock- 
ing is as civil as a silkworm. It is worked out 
by a machine — a process unromantic, and em- 
broidered with white fingers — the very surety 
of righteousness. The clocks themselves are 
the figures of industry. There, you see the 
whole harmless idea: and indeed, being an- 
alyzed, there was really nothing in it.” 

Nothing in it, do you say? ” said Katherine 
with some indignation. 

I am corrected. I do not speak literally. 
I wish I might tell you what I think of the 
contents.” And with this Cathcart slid down 
and sat upon a stool. 

“ I will explain,” he proceeded. “ Nothing 
in it, we say, and I am permitted the singular 
number. The present situation, too, is invalu- 


CATHCART MAKES HAY 105 


able for the telling of the tale. The principle,” 
he continued, with a queer scholastic touch, “ is 
that of the sundial. Sitting here — if the sun 
were going down — I watch the shadows fall- 
ing upon — your stocking. Thereon — by their 
length — I compute the time of day. As you sit, 
the sun touches, if it were noon — your pardon — 
an ankle. Now, if it is late afternoon, it is — er 
— more extended. In the evening, just as dark 
is threatening, it would flash and sparkle and 
touch the diamond — your pardon again — at 
your garter.” 

Here Katherine jumped to the ground and 
stood. 

'' My difficulty, Mr. Cathcart,” said she in a 
very full voice, “ is to determine whether what 
you have said is stupid or insulting.” 

I thought as she stood there, looking quite 
straight, what a very taking picture she made. 
She was never a small woman, but now she 
seemed to have added inches to her height, and 
there was a brightness in her eye which was 
wonderful to see, although, as I caught it, not 
all angriness in her lips. 

Cathcart, however, was in no way ruffled or 
perturbed at this outbreak, but sat with a kind 
of gentle running smile on his face. 


io6 A LADY’S HONOR 

You are the very cream of woman, he said 
in his kind, boyish voice, “ and, as you know 
as well as I, I am entirely in love with you.” 

“Love!” said Katherine scornfully; “you 
have no means of understanding even its sound. 
You think you get more from the world than 
other men, but it all ends in your getting 
nothing.” 

“You are rather hard on me, don’t you 
think? ” he questioned. 

“ It is your deserts,” she replied. 

“ Surely you know the real thing when you 
see it,” he protested. “ I thought a woman’s 
instinct always told her true? ” 

“ My instinct, Mr. Cathcart, tells me noth- 
ing of this kind.” 

“ Would you not listen at your heart once 
more,” asked Cathcart, “ for the sake of 
certainty? ” 

Said Katherine: “It is a very still small 
voice — and, Mr. Cathcart, it is now quite dark.” 

“Never mind, Kate; we can sit quite close 
together, and then I will not be afraid.” 

“ By my heart, I wish I were out of this,” 
she cried suddenly. 

“ I am sure I am not touching you.” 

“ I think you had better not.” 


CATHCART MAKES HAY 107 


‘‘ Spitfire ! 7 said he. 

For myself, all this time I lay on the rafters 
in a position of acute discomfort, hungry, tired, 
and full of painful bruises. My cousin Katherine 
seemed quite able to take care of herself, and, 
except for the mere act of showing myself, I 
had not the smallest right to interfere. Of 
course I should have proclaimed myself imme- 
diately on my awakening, but I was shy to 
discover myself to them after hearing their 
voices, and to make my appearance in a clap, 
like a demon of the night. 

Cathcart during this time had made for her 
a sort of rude couch with boxes and planks, 
which Katherine, after a slight demur, accepted. 
For the rest, it was all hearsay, for it was too 
dark to see anything but the light outline of the 
girl and the dark figure of Cathcart. 

The first words I heard after this were: 

“ Oh! but I did not know you too were go- 
ing to sit here.” 

But you could not have thought in earnest 
that I could be content to sit in any other 
place,” rejoined the other. 

There was another pause. It was so still 
that the straw creaked as I lay, and without a 
night-jar churred; through a break in the thatch 


io8 A LADY’S HONOR 

above one star burnt very bright and near. My 
own thoughts in the affair were, if rather in- 
definite, none the less painful and real. My 
circumstances had not made me what is termed 
a lady’s man.” Moreover, the thought that 
the lady, to me the one in all the world, was 
seated below in the company of a person pos- 
sessed of more charm than character, was an 
unmixed displeasure. 

Here again I had thoughts of shouting my 
presence to them, but the presentiment of the 
figure I should cut appearing amid shrieks as 
a kind of father-witch, abstained me. 

“ You must not be holding my hand,” says 
Katherine at length. 

“I am growing timorous,” says he. 

^‘You great baby!” says the girl. 

“ I do not object to the term,” says he. 

You are worse than a baby.” 

‘‘Thank Heaven!” 

“ For what? ” she asks. 

“ For the faculty of evil,” says Cathcart. 

It was here that for the first time I noticed — 
and I fancy they noticed too — the pattering of 
small feet on the straw, and, at the same time, 
a rat took the jump of my ankle as if it were a 
gate. Below, a horse was kicking and rearing in 


CATHCART MAKES HAY 109 


a stall, and between his fits of activity one could 
hear the straw crackle under the pressure of 
many feet. It was not a visitation but an in- 
vasion which came upon us. For myself, I 
loathe rats as I do serpents, and the sentiments 
of Katherine were not long in doubt. 

What’s that?” I heard her cry suddenly, 
and before there could be any reply, she added, 
“ My heart! it is rats in the barn.” 

“ Well,” said the other voice, “ there will 
be no room for distress if you keep close to me.” 

I could hear her deep breathing, and in her 
disturbance Katherine, I should imagine, had 
caught Cathcart’s arm, for I heard him say — 

“ Please, I wish you wouldn’t pinch me so.” 

“ Oh, I am sorry,” said Katherine. 

“ Never mind,” said Cathcart easily; “ I can 
pay you in your own coin.” 

Immediately afterwards I heard a little 
scream from the girl, and from this I deducted 
that Cathcart had kept his word. 

What is the time now, I wonder? ” says 
Cathcart after a time. 

“ You know quite well,” said the girl, that 
I have no watch.” 

Of course,” said Cathcart, as I have told 
you, you have no need of any such thing — un- 


I lO 


A LADY’S HONOR 


less, indeed, I stopped every clock when I 
pinched you.” 

As I lay on the rafters, there was now a long 
silence, a silence which to me was about as pleas- 
urable as to be found lying full length on a grid- 
iron over a slow fire, a situation it resembled in 
more than one particular. The rats still con- 
tinued their nocturnal gambols, and Katherine, 
although Cathcart in whispers endeavored to 
comfort her, was still, as I judged from her 
breathing, agitated and unstrung. All at once I 
heard a great rustling in the straw. Said Kath- 
erine, “ I am not aware, Mr. Cathcart, what you 
think of me, but if on any pretence you touch 
me again with as much as your little finger, I 
shall — come what may — walk straight out into 
the night.” And Katherine, in little broken 
sobs, started to cry. 

Now men are not constructed to hear 
women cry. It shook and startled me like some 
great tidings, and I had almost taken the jump 
to the floor when Cathcart uttered one word 
which stopped all the crying. ‘‘Coward!” he 
said in quite another voice. 

“ By the merciful Power, it is you who is 
the coward,” cried the girl; “ so to behave to a 
woman without friends.” 


CATHCART MAKES HAY iii 


Then I fancy he must have sprung to his 
feet, for what purpose I cannot tell; but I heard 
the quick steps of a struggle, and then the noise 
of a blow, and one stumbling backwards. Then 
said Katherine, “ My Lord, Til not endure it — 
I’d rather die in a field.” And at this I bunched 
myself together, and with black blood in my 
heart took the leap to the ground. 

Before, I had seemed a spectator at a play, 
albeit one in which I was deeply concerned. 
Now, however, I was quite certainly on the 
stage. The moon must have been directly over 
the break in the roof, for the stable was full of 
bright light. I could see them quite clearly. 
Katherine, her dark hair tumbled over her 
shoulders, and her dress disordered, stared at 
me simply. Without, the rain again thrashed 
incessantly against our frail walls and thatched 
roof. Cathcart stumbled to his feet, and made 
as if to draw his hanger, but I swung my right 
fist into his mouth and left his face in a bloody 
pickle. 

Katherine screamed, and turned towards 
me, not, so it seemed, regarding me as a deliv- 
erer. I do not pretend — Heaven forbid — to 
understand women, but I think I expected some 
measure of gratitude for saving her from, at 


I 12 


A LADY’S HONOR 


least, insult. But she stood there now, looking 
at me with lighted eyes, and her two white fists 
clenched (I noticed a little red mark on her 
right hand, with which, I conjectured, she had 
struck Cathcart); and it was fine to see her 
bosom rise and fall. 

'' I am here to protect you,'’ said I. 

‘‘ I am quite able to protect myself,” said she 
coldly, “ if it were necessary — and I do not favor 
your brutality.” 

Then I heard a sound on my right, and I 
looked to see Cathcart — the devil in his eyes 
and his hanger in his hand — making for me. 
Just then, however, clear as spring, we heard 
through the night the long note of a French 
bugle-call, and then the stamping of hoofs on 
the sodden ground, and — for, after all, the three 
of us were English — all thought of private anger 
died out, and we turned our thoughts and faces 
to the door. 


CHAPTER VIII 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 

We stood for what seemed quite a while 
gazing at each other but saying nothing; and I 
cannot tell whose face was the whitest — whiter 
even than the daylight which was now stealing 
in. At last we all made movement for the lad- 
der, and first Katherine, and then Cathcart, and 
then myself, scrambled up into thedoft. I made 
a movement to draw the ladder in after us, but 
Katherine stayed me. “ It will be best to leave 
it so,” she said. 

Then I heard a voice shout, “ Why, Bap- 
tiste must be gone;” and at this immediately 
the door was thrown open and a stream of 
French Grenadiers broke into the barn. 

“ There’s no more fodder here,” says one. 

But there might be in the loft,” says an- 
other. 

'' No,” replied the first, whom we blessed as 
he spoke, '' that was taken long ago.” And 


A LADY’S HONOR 


114 

then, to our great relief, they grumbled, threw 
over the cart, and went off. 

After this we held a council of war. 

“ What I am inclined to do — ” Cathcart be- 
gan genially. 

“ Before we talk of our inclinations,” I inter- 
rupted, “ I will tell you my orders, which are 
simply that I have to proceed at once to Maas- 
tricht.” I thought it best, in view of my cousin’s 
temper, to say nothing of recent events. 

“ You’ve still got the despatch? ” said 
Cathcart. 

“ Never mind the despatch. Let us consider 
my cousin,” said I. 

“ Do! ” said Katherine cordially. 

“ Well,” said I, “ the nearest British posi- 
tions are Brussels and Maastricht. Either, 
therefore, you must accept the chances and go 
on, or return to Brussels with Mr. Cathcart.” 

“ It seems to me,” says Cathcart, in a man- 
ner as if nothing had arisen; “it seems to me 
that Brussels will recommend itself as the near- 
est way. Under Adam’s guidance, we have had 
a pleasant time so far, but goodness knows what 
we shall find on the road to Maastricht — none of 
us have been over it. Therefore I vote for 
Brussels.” 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 115 

“With you, Mr. Cathcart; no, thank you,’’ 
says Katherine promptly. 

“ All right, my lady, as you please,” said he 
with a smile; “ I feared you hadn’t the pluck! ” 

“ Pluck! ” said she with a clear derision. 

“ I will look after Katherine,” said I, with a 
fine protective air. 

“ My faith, you are a very pretty protector,” 
said she with a finer scorn. 

I intended we should wait in that place until 
dusk and then make our final stage. I filled 
my time by drawing a course by which we would 
strike the river again, and I hoped that we 
should also strike a boat, as, with the windings 
of the river, we were bound to cross again. 
Nevertheless, the means of getting such a party 
through to Maastricht was beyond my compre- 
hension. Officially, my duty was strictly to cast 
them off and push straight on. Yet to leave my 
cousin alone with such a fellow as Cathcart, 
after what had passed, was, with my duty in my 
face, a problem. I felt in this place I had got to 
take the chances for them all. If the French 
caught me, I might be shot: if the British, I cer- 
tainly should. Only in the class of bullet lie the 
difference. 

I thought it certain we durst not venture 


ii6 A LADY’S HONOR 

from our hiding whilst the day lasted; but as we 
were all hungry, we must for the present forget 
our private and public differences and forage for 
food. Cathcart made himself very busy in this 
department, and ultimately unearthed a quan- 
tity of corn and a few carrots. Upon these we 
started to make a meal. The corn was crushed 
from its ears and made into a little white heap, 
and the carrots Katherine carefully peeled. 
Then we dined off the corn, and took the carrots 
for dessert. Cathcart was very talkative, Kath- 
erine silent; and I somewhat sulky. She knew, 
of course, that I had overheard the dialogue on 
the cart, and I wondered that her sense of hu- 
mor was not touched. Although to a man’s 
mind Cathcart’s conduct and character were 
only too clear, to a lady’s gentler apprehensions 
that which is dishonorable is not easily believed 
in those for whom they have friendly feelings. 
That which should properly be put to the ac- 
count of gross selfishness is attributed to honor- 
able emotion, albeit imperfectly expressed. As 
for myself, I had certainly struck Cathcart, and 
to reflect upon it brought me a kind of hot and 
cold feeling which, it is unfortunate to think, is 
too frequently the possession of those who have 
been righteous in a just cause. Yet, as Cathcart 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 117 

appeared to have forgotten it, I surely had no 
call to remember. 

I fancy at this time Katherine would have 
liked a private talk with me to put matters 
straight as regards herself. No lady cares that 
her conduct should give possible excuse for the 
smallest of light thoughts regarding her, and, 
however insignificant the person to be con- 
vinced, it is said they will stick at nothing to 
convince him. 

We were now, I calculated, about 20 miles 
from Maastricht, in the midst of a waste of 
marshes and flats, cut across here and there by 
stagnant canals. We were famished for proper 
food, and had none of us any change of clothes'. 
If now we were taken by the French, I could 
think of no story to explain our position and 
save us from being shot as spies by opponents 
who had never been »fastidious in their distribu- 
tion of justice. Katherine’s fine physique had 
carried her through triumphantly, although her 
feet were almost through her light shoes, and 
her gown was sadly torn. My own position was, 
that if the Prince was to meet the Duke at Brus- 
sels on the 1st June, that I must be at Maas- 
tricht by the 31st May, and it was already the 
30th May. Therefore my situation was full of 


ii8 A LADY’S HONOR 

anxiety. As for Cathcart, who, if I tried to hate, 
I was unsuccessful, he looked restless and fe- 
verish, and I feared that he was going to be sick. 
He, however, exerted himself to the utmost to 
make the time pass lightly, and improvised sev- 
eral games. For one game he fixed a long row 
of straws in a crack of the floor-boards, and at 
these we had so many slicks with so many peas. 
The straws represented French soldiers, and the 
peas cannon-balls, and the game of course was 
to ground as many straws as possible. The oc- 
cupation to me at the present seems a slight 
entertainment, but I think we were like cast- 
aways on an island, grateful at the time for any 
diversion. Another game, which he said was 
Irish, he proposed to Katherine. Each of two 
was to take one end of a straw between their 
teeth, and to bite along it quickly was the sport. 
As in the end their lips inevitably met, Kath- 
erine declined to play, upon which Cathcart ob- 
served that she was no sportswoman. 

I think I might have been tempted to make 
our way forward in that afternoon, only that 
Cathcart, whom I had noticed was not in health 
in the morning, grew rapidly worse as the day 
wore on. He started to shiver, his teeth chat- 
tered, and his eyes grew wonderfully bright. I 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 119 

thought he was sickening for the fever, which 
was only too common in the army. About 
Cathcart’s fever I do not think I greatly cared, 
but I did care about getting to Maastricht. If 
Cathcart were too sick to move, the Prince and 
the army regulations notwithstanding, I was not 
going to leave my cousin and Cathcart again 
alone in that barn. 

Just as the dusk was falling, our supply of 
water being out, I proposed that I should go 
below and fetch some from the tap. Cathcart 
by this time had fallen asleep. 

As I rose my cousin turned to me. “ May I 
come too, Adam? ” she asked quietly. 

'' Of course you may,” said I. 

She descended first, turning her face pret- 
tily towards me as I held the top of the lad- 
der, and I followed. We filled the pannikin, 
I holding the tin, and she turning the tap. 
Then for a few moments we walked to and fro 
talking: 

I suppose you do not think highly of me 
now — after what has passed? ” she commenced. 

^‘Nonsense!” I replied. 

I wish you to understand, Adam,” she con- 
tinued, that I do not believe Mr. Cathcart is 
what you consider him.” 


120 


A LADY’S HONOR 


I’ve never said anything against him,” I 
answered. 

“ But you struck him in the face,” she said 
shortly. 

“ When I thought he insulted you,” said I. 

“ You were mistaken,” said she with some 
heat. 

“ Oh, very well,” said I; “ that is for you to 
say,” and we sat down on the wheel of the up- 
turned cart. 

‘‘ I know,” she continued, in the tone of one 
who has before her a set task, and is determined 
to be through with it; “ I know that I was silly; 
but I did not care to seem afraid. I do not think 
he meant any wrong. You were hasty, and 
thought so. If Mr. Cathcart were really not a 
gentleman, would he be your friend, Adam? ” 

I thought it discreet at this juncture to say 
nothing. 

“ You see I was so far away from everybody. 
I wish I had been more strict. It was my fault 
in a way, I suppose.” 

I do not think so,” I remarked. 

You are quite wrong about him,” she went 
on. He is not so disgraceful. I can’t think 
why I should be at this trouble to convince you 
— of your friend.” 


I2I 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 

« 

“ Of course, if you are in love with him- 

‘‘ You have not the least right to say that,’’ 
she interrupted. Then she went on in a calmer 
tone: I desire to make myself perfectly plain 
to you.” 

You will never do that to anybody,” I in- 
terrupted. 

“ That is a rude thing to say at such a time 
as this.” 

“ It’s this cart,” said I; “we had better re- 
turn to your companion.” Katherine flushed 
and bit her lip; and with no more conversation 
we ascended the ladder. 

Cathcart was asleep on his side, his white 
teeth showing, and a smile on his lips. His face 
was as clear of trouble as that of a child. We 
stood watching him. 

“ What you say is not true,” says Katherine, 
turning to me. 

“ I have said nothing,” said I. 

“ You have done worse than talk,” said she, 
I suppose meaning that my blow had caused the 
sickness, although this was ridiculous. 

“ Supposing, then, I am quite wrong,” I 
replied, “ it is very necessary that I obey my or- 
ders and go forward at once; but it would imply 
you were left alone.” 


122 . 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ With Mr. Cathcart? ” she asked. 

Yes,” I replied. 

'' Well, then, why are you waiting now? ” 
she cried passionately. “ If it is your business 
to go on, why are you detained? I am nothing 
to think about. If I am left in this lonely place; 
if I am neglected; if I am insulted — what is that 
to you? ” 

I was unprepared for this total change of 
front, and contented myself with saying, “ You 
know what you say is quite untrue.” 

Conversation being difficult, and as Cathcart 
still slept, we sat on the floor, Katherine and I, 
at either side of the window. It was now twi- 
light. She appeared after a while inclined to be 
friendly, but to this I had no heart to recipro- 
cate. 

Then ensued a period of silence, interspersed 
with mere civilities. She was too proud to make 
any advance towards friendliness, and I too 
obstinate, I suppose, to inspire such advances. 
We would sit staring out of the window to- 
gether, simply a few feet apart, both surely wish- 
ing to talk, but either would have been beaten 
rather than begin. If some great clap of danger 
had occurred just then, it is possible we might 
have forgotten our politeness and become real 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 123 


friends once for all. We were both on the verge 
of a sympathy, and yet these silly thoughts of 
pride choked our real desires. A word from 
either, or a gesture even, might have sufficed, 
yet neither gave it. To look back, it seems such 
a stupid, profitless business; but I can still re- 
member that it seemed then, by a strange twist 
in human nature, to be the one thing in all the 
world upon which I would not give way. If she 
would have said, “ Oh Adam, pity me,” or whis- 
pered that she was unhappy, or have cried, I 
might almost have fallen on my knees at her 
feet and prayed her forgiveness. But nothing 
of the kind occurred. 

So we sat looking through the one grimy 
window on to the wastes of dreary flats, and the 
ponds and puddles left by the floods. The sun 
was dipping slowly below the horizon, burnish- 
ing like metal many slimy plots. Over every- 
thing hung a silence that was more oppressive 
than peaceful. 

“ I am wicked,” said Katherine suddenly,^ 
with a little catch in her voice. 

'' Listen to me,” I said, “ don’t you worry 
any more about that. It wasn’t your fault 
at all. I arn very sorry I ever brought him to 
you.” 


9 


124 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ One would think,” said she, '' that harm 
had happened.” 

“ Harm has happened,” I retorted. 

“ How dare you say that? ” she broke out. 
'' However impolite Mr. Gathcart may have 
been, it was nothing to your present rude- 
ness.” 

'' We are prettily situated to be quarreling 
again,” I remarked. 

Gathcart stirred in his sleep, and he turned 
on his left side towards us, and then opened 
his eyes. Katherine went to him, and, slip- 
ping her arm under his shoulder, gently and 
easily helped him to sit up; then she gave 
him water to drink, all in a serious method- 
ical manner. Gathcart, his shoulders propped 
against a wooden partition, looked round 
upon us. 

“ I am only a bad one,” he remarked 
pleasantly; “but you are both very kind 
to me.” 

“We are sorry you are poorly,” said Kather- 
ine gravely. 

“ If anything is amiss, I suspect it is in judg- 
ment for my sins,” said he lightly. 

“ You think you are not well enough to 
walk? ” I asked. 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 125 

You can see that he is not,” says Kath- 
erine. 

“ He surely doesn’t mean it,” remarked 
Cathcart. 

“ I only mean this,” said I, perhaps unwisely, 
but I had no pity for his sickness; “ it is unfor- 
tunate that Mr. Cathcart is too unwell to move. 
If we stay here, we stand a wonderful fine chance 
of being captured and shot; and if I leave you, 
my cousin stands certainly an equal chance of 
being insulted.” 

“ You dolt, what do you mean? ” cries Cath- 
cart, with a blazing look in his eyes; and I think 
this is the only time I ever saw him show him- 
self out of temper. 

“You can go your own way,” said I; “I 
have done with you.” At this his ill-humor van- 
ished and he turned to Katherine. 

“There’s no profit in falling out; is there, 
cousin? ” said he. 

“ I am not your cousin,” said Katherine, 
“ and I think you had best go to sleep.” 

“ There was a time you thought you were,” 
Cathcart retorted meekly, and closed his eyes 
to sleep. 

It was about this time that Cathcart began 
to lose his head, and muttered and gestured as 


126 


A LADY’S HONOR 


he slept. For once his face seemed to mirror 
his thoughts, changing like an April sky from 
anger to delight. “ Be a dear to me,” we heard 
him say; “ I am not a marrying man — I am so 
very poor; but you will be a dear to me, won’t 
you? ” Then for a time there was a silence, and 
he broke out again: “ Let the mud-larks bring 
the rum to the cellar — fair does, mister, in divi- 
sion. Steady now, and I’ll paddle round to the 
bow of the barge. Then we will gently lower 
the sugar — good West Indian cane; slowly now. 
It is very dark, but no lights. Mind, no dis- 
turbance. If any ruffian comes in the way, why, 
then, a quick dirk in the center of the back be- 
tween the shoulders — the right place — ” he 
raised himself on his elbow. “ I am a poor man. 
I must live. Why should he interfere? He is 
bleeding — bleeding — my God! how he is bleed- 
ing! Drag him by the shoulders across the 
deck. Curse you. Ripper, for a clumsy fool. 
You dolt, his foot is in a chain. Now we hoist 
him, all together. What a devilish weight! 
Gently — gently — ^if you please — now a shove. 
I’ll not listen to the splash. He may have a 
woman and children. Let us get off the cursed 
craft. I’ll stand by — you lower. We’ll take no 
more. Cast off. I will have drink — drink — and 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 127 


kissing.’’ He dropped back on his side, and 
cried and cursed as he slept. 

Katherine sat with tight lips and glistening 
eyes. I hardly cared to look at her. A moon 
no bigger than a man’s hand showed itself in the 
heavens. It seemed its face was full of tears. 
On the marshes some birds hooted mournfully. 

“ Of course he is your husband, my dear,” 
broke in the voice from the floor, “ but when in 
his life did he think of it — after the beginning? 
Were I a pretty woman, neglected and cast off, 
and another cared for me greatly, and I for him 
— if only slightly — what would be my fortune? 
Should I still reckon myself the luggage of one, 
a gentleman surely, but a peg for every bawdy 
in the town? Then when one whom you do not 
dislike comes — surely, to love you — there is no 
word for him, howsoever he would be kind and 
gentle. . . . Dear, think of me sometimes.” He 
smiled in his sleep as often awake we had seen 
him smile. Katherine made as if she would rise 
and go to him, but I caught her wrist. “ You 
must not listen,” I said; “go and draw water 
from below,” and for once she obeyed me and 
left me alone. 

After a little while he broke out again in 
quite a different voice: “ Lash the brutes — bleed 


128 


A LADY’S HONOR 


their ribs, and make them gallop. I’ll not hang 
for nothing. How much in front is he now, 
think you? Four hundred yards. Try the 
whips. Tear their ears, the beasts. Hell for 
leather, come along. Curse their hoofs and the 
noise. I see him now cut out like a gallows in 
the moonlight. Is he gaining? Lash them — 
lash them — lash them. Two hundred yards 
now, not more. Shoot him. Ripper, you dolt 
to miss. . . . Gallop at him, and cut him down. 
Stand off and give him a fight. Guard — cut — 
guard — thrust. This is foolery. He must go 
down. Jem is a dolt at fighting, and I stand 
here like a grinning porter. He has got to go 
down. It can’t matter a groat who scatters his 
soul. I run’ in — you stand aside. Ripper — 
— U-r-rgh.” 

Then a pause again. “ I was, yes, hand- 
somely drunk at the time. I’d never else have 
told that her ladyship was my mother. Any- 
body can know my father. You can be friends 
with him for seven guineas — his fee. Drunk! 
my Heaven, I must have been, to betray my 
mother! Five hundred pounds a year I have 
had from her until, poor soul, she died; but from 
my father scarcely a needy farthing. He is a 
miserly old reprobate — full of vice and iniquity. 


A COMEDY IN A BARN 129 


All the town has talked of his satanic highness — 
Dr. Peter Crighton.” 

He fell back in fatigue and seemed to sleep 
as Katherine appeared at the ladder-head with 
a vessel filled with water in her hand. 


CHAPTER IX 

AN OLD WOUND 

In the morning Cathcart’s fever had left 
him, and he sat up, looking clearer, but woefully 
weak. It was the 31st May. Notwithstanding 
Cathcart’s health, and the chances of capture, I 
insisted that we must now start off again, and 
after a mile’s walking we safely found the river, 
and after a little searching sighted a boat nicely 
appointed as for an officer’s pleasure. Our luck 
it seemed had turned. 

We came down to the river-side where the 
boat by its painter was fastened to some tree 
roots which had grown over the bank. I 
crawled thereto, and struggled to unfasten the 
rope which held the stem. This, what with the 
stickiness. of the damp hemp and my own excite- 
ment, was not the easiest of tasks. Cathcart 
stamped about impatiently. ‘‘ Come, man, 
hurry; pull yourself together,” he cried, and re- 
peated such-like cheerful phrases, until I grew 
130 


AN OLD WOUND 


131 

hot down the back, and in my heart wished him 
to the devil. Katherine stood by in a fashion of 
friendliness, whilst I, fallen on my face and 
messed from chin to heel, struggled with the 
knots and the wet rope. At last I held the 
painter in my hand, and Cathcart, with a great 
grace and gallantry, handed my cousin into her 
seat. “ Adam’s the man for the sculls,” he cried 
cheerily, and seated himself in the stern beside 
her. 

I am not sure that I was pleased with this 
arrangement, as in the broad light there was no 
difficulty in steering, whilst I had to fag away 
on a task which was in my weak condition none 
of the lightest. Katherine had settled herself 
happily next to Cathcart, and they must have 
looked^. beside myself, a very presentable couple. 
He had thrown a waterproof over their knees as 
a protection, he said, against my splashing. I 
could however see a small commotion under the 
waterproof, and I suspected perhaps he was try- 
ing to catch her hand. Then I saw her face run 
scarlet, and I dug my sculls deep in the water. 
We had drawn in under the left side of the river, 
where some distance further up I had reckoned, 
according to my plan, that we should land. We 
had drawn right in under the shadow of the 


132 


A LADY’S HONOR 


trees, and through them we could see the hills 
beyond. Suddenly Katherine, who had been 
looking through the trees, glanced across to me. 

“ Adam,” she said quickly, “ what is that 
blue ribbon on the hills? ” 

I looked and saw a narrow bend of blue slow- 
ly moving towards the river. 

“ Our dragoons, I have no doubt,” I an- 
swered promptly, though to myself I was by no 
means so sure. Unshipping my sculls, I caught 
the boughs, and drew the boat clear in under the 
bank to watch the ribbon growing more and 
more vivid and moving towards us. 

“ I wonder how it is,” said Cathcart in a 
tone of amiable philosophy, “ that in any time of 
danger you do not appeal to me but to Adam? ” 
Katherine snapped her fingers but made no 
answer; she also threw off the waterproof cloak. 

By this time the ribbon had defined itself. 
It came from the shade of the hills out into the 
bright light, without doubt a squadron of 
French cuirassiers moving at jog-trot towards 
the river’s edge. 

It’s French soldiers,” said I. 

Well, they will pass away,” said Katherine. 
Cathcart said nothing. For some time past 
he had resigned the rudder lines to my cousin, 


AN OLD WOUND 


133 

and had been sketching on his white-ruffled 
shirt with a lead pencil. 

Good God! ” he cried suddenly; “ I cannot 
take off my shirt, and with these lines about it 
they will for a hundred guineas shoot me as a 
spy.” 

“Yes,” said I; “the French are rather im- 
pulsive at these times.” 

“ What’s to be done? ” he cried; “ one of you 
think of something.” 

Katherine was watching him with a queer, 
surprised smile on her face. 

“ You seem undone, Mr. Cathcart,” said 
she; and to my idea there seemed not a just 
cause for his distress. 

“ Can’t you see that if I am caught with 
these marks on my linen we shall all be shot — 
shot against a wall with a volley — isn’t that bad 
enough? ” 

We lay there snug under the trees, the 
painter fast, whilst the horsemen careered past 
us down the river-side. Also I saw bodies of 
infantry moving along the hills, and I felt that 
to reach Maastricht was a matter of diffi- 
culty, and with a woman between us an affair of 
peril. 

Not that ,I thought that he in particular 


134 


A LADY’S HONOR 


would be shot, but to be captured at this time, 
with my work and ambitions in going order 
would, for myself at least, be a great inconve- 
nience. Katherine had drawn her gown to her 
elbow, and her arm played to and fro in the cool 
deep water. At this time too we heard desultory 
firing on the hills, and as the time passed the 
number of troops visible between ourselves and 
the direction of our destination increased. 

“ This is a pretty state of things,” says Cath- 
cart, scowling at me. 

“ It must be pitiable to be afraid,” says my 
cousin; and at this Cathcart blushed, and said 
no more. 

We sat tight in the boat, with the leaves in 
our faces, for, I daresay, the best part of three 
hours, whilst squadrons of cavalry patrolled the 
bank, and on the hills the infantry lighted their 
fires and cooked their meals on tripods. We had 
hitched our boat securely among the trees 
which hung around us, and had worked our way 
into a place which shut us from everything ex- 
cept the river mists which the sun could not yet 
dispel, and the water-rats which pattered along 
the banks, sometimes tapping at our boat as 
they passed. 

Katherine sat in the stern, and although her 


AN OLD WOUND 


135 


face was white, it was very clear of fear. She 
sat straight as a lance, with the silken tiller- 
ropes in her lap. Although she had had no 
sleep in the night, she was quite awake, as her 
bright eyes were shining like stars. 

“ You crawl up the bank,” says Cathcart, 
after what seemed a very long while, “ and see 
if there is any chance for us.” 

Catching at the grass, I dragged the boat 
broadside on to the bank, and jobbed out my 
feet on to the soft mud, which soaked me to my 
ankles. The rats scattered, and my cousin gave 
a small scream, but Cathcart’s hand fell quickly 
over her mouth, and the sound died away in a 
queer kind of sigh. I dragged myself on to the 
bank, and began to crawl over the thick under- 
growth. When I had crawled to the skirt of the 
cluster of trees I looked out on a scene which 
chilled but did not surprise me. On the hills and 
right across the valley bodies of French troops 
were plentifully scattered, and in the sunlight, 
which was now bright, their forms were sil- 
houetted against the dark hills. Unless we 
made a long detour in the night, to pass them 
was clearly impossible. I lay and watched them 
for some minutes as they stacked their muskets 
gipsy fashion and made soup in their tin panni- 


136 


A LADY’S HONOR 


kins. I might easily have killed six of them had 
I a musket and the poor heart to shoot men un- 
awares. I crept back to my cousin and Cath- 
cart. 

“ Well? ” said Katherine quietly. 

Is there a chance? ” asked Cathcart 
eagerly. 

“ Can’t get through the valley,” said I, 
French soldiers in bivouac.” 

What can we do then? ” said Cathcart. 
Come, man, say something.” 

“ We must go round over the country,” 
said I. 

Devil alive; we can’t do that in the day,” 
says Cathcart. 

“ Then,” said I, “ there is no help for it; we 
must wait until the night.” 

With this I climbed back into the boat, and 
waited grimly, watching one or the other. At 
last I could stand the reaction no longer. 

“ I am not going to sit here and grow,” said 
I, and started up. 

“ Well, don’t be gone long,” said Cathcart. 

Why not be away long? ” I asked cu- 
riously. 

“ Oh, I think your cousin has no liking for 
the loneliness,” he said. 


AN OLD WOUND 


137 

^'Nonsense!” said Katherine; “I think 
Mr. Cathcart is afraid.” 

Again I climbed on to the bank — a pitiful 
figure of mud and disorder — and pulled myself 
this time by the painter, and bumped my com- 
panions beautifully. To stand was impossible, 
so I crawled along as a bear might for some 
way to the right, without the growth growing 
any clearer. At length the way grew suddenly 
easier, and I stood upright in a clearing. Front- 
ing me was a lengthy rectangular building, with 
a stone roof. Then, and without any examina- 
tion, I returned to my cousin and Cathcart, and 
I found them there as before, Cathcart cold and 
restless, and my cousin silent and decided. 

“Come along,” I cried; “there is a stone 
house higher up, and we may find a kind of shel- 
ter until the night.” 

Instantly Cathcart sprung up and helped my 
cousin to mount the bank. Thereupon, as the 
need was, we fell to our knees, I leading, and in 
Indian file made towards the clearing. Kath- 
erine bore this without murmur, though im- 
peded by her skirts, but she must have gone 
through many grievous things. At last I heard 
a s-s-s-s from Cathcart. I turned. There was 
Katherine, with her back against a tree. 


138 A LADY’S HONOR 

“ Adam,” she cried, “ I can go no farther.” 

As I looked ahead I saw we were within lOO 
yards of the stone house, and to my surprise I 
saw a man, in the uniform of the French Guard, 
standing at attention by the house with both 
his hands on his musket. Two considerations 
now made themselves quite clear to me. First- 
ly, that my cousin must be found shelter, and 
that at once; and secondly, that the gentleman 
of the French Guard stood between us and that 
shelter. He stood then very silent, looking out 
over the river. Cathcart, who was always at 
home in an affair of gallantry, was comforting 
my cousin in her fatigue. So, leaving them, I 
crept along in the shadow of the trees and the 
long grass, and came to within lo yards of the 
Frenchman. He still stood stiff, holding his 
musket. Then, though mayhap the idea is little 
to my credit, but the necessity was imperative, I 
saw I must creep round the other side, and take 
the soldier by the rear. So I made a kind of de- 
tour, and came to the back of the house, sliding 
along in the shadow of the roof. As I came to 
the turn of the corner I stopped, and the man 
moved his foot, and, knowing there is no time 
like the present, I sprung forward and kicked his 
musket a way off. In a moment I was at his 


AN OLD WOUND 


139 


throat, and — for he must make no sound — 
gripped him there in a twinkling. There was 
little struggle before the twenty odd stone of us 
fell sideways to the ground with a great crash 
like the fall of a wall. The pain in my arm and 
shoulder was extreme, but there was little time 
to consider that, for immediately there ensued a 
struggle too fierce to think patiently of now. 

Here on the earth I had still fastened myself 
to his throat, more after the fashion of a ferret 
than a grown man; but my policy, at any cost, 
was to impress decided silence. In my shoulder 
a pain was throbbing and aching when he, re- 
covering somewhat from the shock, commenced 
hitting me in my body with his fists, not at all in 
the manner of a Frenchman. Also he com- 
menced to kick me about the body with his 
heavy boots, and at once I saw that with my 
weak shoulder my only chance was in the river. 
Then recommenced a furious tussle — I to roll 
him into the river, and he, just as earnestly, to 
keep away from it. I still held his throat, so he 
made no sound. His beard, I remember, was 
overgrown a full week, and it cut into my face 
like a turf of needles, scraping me from chin to 
temple until the blood came. (This, I know, 

was the worst pain of it all). Thus we rolled, 
10 


140 


A LADY’S HONOR 


now he, now I uppermost; but even through the 
trouble of the struggle I could see that, being on 
a gentle decline, we were gradually making for 
the water. He was too done to hit me now, yet 
he had the energy once and again, as we turned, 
to heel at my shins. And now we came to the 
brink of the water. Being then uppermost, I 
saw what was coming and did what I could to 
steady myself; but the game was too far played. 
At this part the river must have fallen at least 
six feet from the bank, and as we reached the 
edge I, being undermost, felt a great crumble, 
and the next moment we fell through the air 
into the water. 

I hit the water flat with my back, which 
struck me hard like a sheet of glass, and then, 
with the weight of the Frenchman overbearing, 
we went clean under to the bottom. He held 
me round the neck like a bear, and I knew that 
if this sort of business continued we must both 
drown. So I doubled up my knees to the man’s 
chest, and with all my strength forced him to 
release me. We parted with a kind of snap, and 
I, none too soon, came to the surface. He too 
came to the top, but nearer to the bank, and 
catching at a tree root with his left hand, 
waited for me to come on. The water now had 


AN OLD WOUND 


141 

soaked through my clothes, and I was chatter- 
ing with the cold. Besides, my boots and heavy 
coat were such a burden to me as I struck out 
towards him, that I felt I was towing lead at my 
heels. Perhaps he had forgotten in the run of 
the fight any idea of crying out. His only idea, 
like mine, was to come to a conclusion. 

With his arm hooked in the tree roots, he 
had fixed himself against the bank, and he cer- 
tainly had the pick of positions. I swam round 
and watched him as we both regained our wind. 
I think he was too much the gentleman to call 
to any of his comrades for help, if indeed any 
had been near. So he lay there against the 
bank, like the figurehead of a battleship, waiting 
for me to come on. Both of us had weapons at 
our girdle, I a dagger, he a bayonet, and almost 
together we drew them out. I swam towards 
him with the blade in my teeth, and then in a 
flash I caught the sight of my cousin’s light 
frock on the shore. 

He waited for me, grimly and without mov- 
ing a muscle, with his bayonet in his right hand; 
but when I was within two yards I stopped. It 
was all deep water, and I trod it with my feet 
to keep myself afloat, and changed the dagger 
to my hand. I think I felt sorry to see his brave 


142 


A LADY’S HONOR 


uniform of gold and blue so spoiled by mud and 
water. But there was no space for sentiment, 
for as I came he of a sudden sprung at me, and 
shot out his weapon with a quick plunge at my 
chest. With a turn I dropped under water 
towards him, as he, missing me, plunged under 
at my side. Then, there being no help for it, 
I ran my blade into his throat, and he dropped 
heavy as a bullet to the bottom, and I saw him 
no more. 

Then I crawled dripping up the bank again, 
and joined the two who were there watching. 

‘‘Oh my heart!” said Katherine; “when- 
ever shall I forget this? ” 

“ You must be a nasty fellow to quarrel 
with,” said Cathcart. 

It was here that an incident occurred which 
struck through me like a lightning flash, and 
this, although judged by itself the matter would 
appear utterly inconsequent. We were safely 
got over the river again in the boat, and accord- 
ing to my map spent our afternoon steadily 
making our way towards the country of our 
allies. Indeed, I am sure I discerned bodies of 
the Prussian horse (our allies) riding across 
some low distant hills. We made our way at 
last into a cottage, of which nothing but the 


AN OLD WOUND 


143 


walls had been left. Here we were to rest for a 
few hours. As we reached the doorway I, feel- 
ing somewhat pleased at the progress we had 
made, and hoping soon to fall in with some of 
our own party, placed my hand lightly on’Cath- 
cart’s arm. 

“ Let us,” I said, “ remain friends, all of us, 
through our hard times,” and I gripped his 
shoulder to emphasize what I had said. I must 
have hurt him, for he gave a great cry which 
rung out loud, and he fell away from me. I 
could do no more than stare at him hard — 
amazed; for I had heard that same cry on the 
night my father was murdered. 


CHAPTER X 

OVER THE MUD 

That same evening of the 31st May I deter- 
mined, whether by myself or with my com- 
panions, to make my way into Maastricht. The 
real difficulty now was not so much to evade the 
parties of the enemy, as in crossing the marshes 
and mud-flats which intervened between our- 
selves and the town. We could see clearly the 
small houses, and between them the soldiers 
moving to and fro; there only lay the waste 
of mud between us. Just as it was dark we 
came out into the open, looking, I daresay, if 
there had been any to see us, pretty scarecrows; 
Cathcart, now quite recovered, was as ever full 
of light talk and smiles; Katherine said nothing. 
For myself I was the victim of many emotions. 
What I had heard — that which the flash of acci- 
dent had revealed — had changed absolutely my 
outlook. My friendliness for Cathcart which, 

as perhaps I knew, was based upon sand, had 
144 


OVER THE MUD 


145 


now crumbled. The new position at least con- 
solidated my feelings. It brought me steadi- 
ness. His conduct towards Katherine might in 
others have furnished sufficient pretext. I only 
know that not until the present had I made up 
my mind. I thought of him now as of some 
beautiful slimy reptile, charming in color, but in 
aspect hateful and repulsive. 

With these feelings, which were shortly to 
be confirmed, I set out on the journey. For 
several hundred yards we walked over hard 
ground, only cracked into many queer figures 
by the sun. Sometimes we walked over a shape 
like a crocodile, for whose skin the sun had 
baked the mud into scales; sometimes weird 
forms and faces were outlined on the ground. 
Once only we came upon a real object, a dead 
horse, saddled and bridled, lying dead on the 
ground — an emblem of the sacrifice of war. 

Gradually the ground grew softer and clung 
to our shoes; it was growing dark and mounted 
figures appeared in the distance — whether foe 
or friend we could not tell; and walking became 
not only a danger but a difficulty. Now, at the 
end of it, I dreaded lest we should be seen, and 
small risks which at the outset would not have 
affected me, now distressed me immeasurably. 


146 


A LADY’S HONOR 


It soon became necessary to crawl. We pro- 
ceeded in a single line — myself, then Cathcart, 
and Katherine last. It was hard going over the 
mud, which was sticky and in places deep. Now 
and again it became necessary to halt for breath. 
On one of these occasions we sat together for a 
few minutes, and I noticed that Katherine had 
only her stockings to her feet. “ Where are 
your shoes? ’’ I asked. “ They are in the mud,” 
she replied. “ It would have been useless to 
have told you — they could not have been recov- 
ered.” As we sat there at this time I think, in 
spite of our dangers and distress, that a view 
of the humor of our situation forced itself upon 
us. Katherine suddenly looked from one to the 
other. “ What sights we are, to be sure! ” said 
she, and laughed; but I fancy the girl was the 
worse off. Her gown was stained and torn, her 
hair was unpinned and rolled over her shoulders, 
and one of her heels was through her stocking. 
I felt very sorry for a lady in such a situation. 

It was now dark, and there was no moon — 
only a faint, far-away gleam of light in the 
clouds. There was, however, now no danger of 
losing our way, as the lights of Maastricht glit- 
tered brightly before us. The difficulties of our 
path were, however, increasing enormously. 


OVER THE MUD 147 

The mud seemed to grow deeper and deeper, 
and every step was a trouble. To Katherine, 
who trod on without shoes, the discomfort and 
even pain must have been great; but she made 
no murmur of complaint. First, we would crawl 
for a few yards, and then walk a little way. It 
was no great difference to our comfort which 
we did. We could only see our path clearly a 
few yards ahead, but it was cheerful to discern 
those lights in Maastricht smoldering before 
us. Without these lights I am sure we could 
not have found the spirit to make any progress. 

It is only due to Cathcart to confess that he 
had conducted himself so far admirably through 
the ordeal. There was no talking — the business 
on hand was too serious. We were faint with 
hunger and worn out with fatigue. In many 
places the mud was past my ankles and clung 
to my every step. I dared not think of my 
cousin’s suffering — without shoes, and a woman 
too. I blamed myself bitterly for her predica- 
ment, which was one bad enough for a man, but 
infinitely worse for a lady of delicate nurture. 

As regards Cathcart, I think I now began to 
view him in a clear light. Although our situa- 
tion left little time for reflection, his character 
had suddenly defined itself in my mind, as after 


148 A LADY’S HONOR 

a mist has lifted there stands a hulk against the 
sky-line. And all through this bitter journey I 
could hear that cry through the night ringing 
and ringing in my ears. 

Now the marsh fell into deep ruts, into which 
we dropped, and from whence we climbed in 
silence, each grimly concerned in the means of 
going forward. Sometimes I tried to help 
Katherine over the bad places, and she accepted 
my offers with a frank nod which had something 
charmingly friendly about it. 

All the time, as I have said, in spite of our 
distress, thoughts .of my father continually pre- 
sented themselves. I saw again the clash of 
blades, and heard the stamp of hoofs over the 
hard ground. Then came the sight of the ruf- 
fian sliding in under my father’s guard, and last 
the fatal, cowardly blow. My duty to avenge 
that act lay very clear and straight before me. 

Suddenly there was a cry from Cathcart. I 
turned to see him swallowed to his armpits in 
a morass. 

He had been toiling along a little to our 
left. From his illness I daresay he was still 
weak, but to his credit he made no complaint. 
In parts the mud had dumped down into deep 
holes, and into one of these holes he had fallen. 


OVER THE MUD 


149 


'‘Help me, for God’s sake!” he cried. “No 
noise then,” I called, and made my way towards 
him. Carefully crawling on my knees, I made 
to within a yard of him. “ Steady! ” I said, and 
caught him by the right hand. Katherine was 
now by my side and caught him by his other 
hand. Thus we held him for a few seconds and 
steadied ourselves. Then we began slowly to 
draw him out. It was a difficult job, as he was 
firmly imbedded, and we were both of us nearly 
done. What Katherine thought I cannot tell, 
but I, at least, bore no love towards him. If 
suddenly he had disappeared I should not per- 
haps have felt pleasure, but certainly I should 
have been relieved. At the present, however, 
here he was in the mud, out of which somehow 
he must be extricated. “ Katherine, Adam,” 
he was crying, “ do not leave me to die in this 
horrible hole. Nobody can deserve that. It is 
a toad’s death. Oh hurry, hurry, for pity’s 
sake,” he cried. “ You fool! ” said I; “ you will 
bring the French.” Holding Cathcart by both 
hands, I knelt at the edge of the hole, whilst I 
asked Katherine to hunt around and see if she 
could find any plank or wheel which could be 
used as a support for Cathcart. Many things of 
this sort, from broken stores’ carts, we had 


159 


A LADY’S HONOR 


passed on our way when we had not required 
them. Katherine departed, and I was left alone 
with Cathcart. As I have said, I was kneeling 
by the hole, but too near the edge, I suppose, 
to be safe, and I was holding both Cathcart’s 
hands in mine. I was quite aware from the grip 
on my fingers that he was sinking no deeper. 
Suddenly, and without a tremor of preparation, 
I felt the grip on my hands tighten, and there 
followed a great tug at my arms, which must 
have sent me head foremost into the pit, but 
that my knees had become firmly imbedded in 
the surface mud; otherwise I must certainly 
have gone forward to my death. Cathcart’s 
endeavor was too obvious. For me to pitch for- 
ward into the pit (which was about three feet 
deep from the surface) meant that I should sink 
by his side head foremost into the mud. With 
my body for a support, there could be little dif- 
ficulty in his pulling himself up. My own fate 
I shuddered to consider. I loosed both his 
hands and sunk back. This thought of his in- 
tention had shot through me, and left me with 
feelings of such loathing for Cathcart that I sat 
on the mud, filled not so much with hatred as 
with wonder at his villainy. I heard him call 
from the pit, “ I beg your pardon,” and cry 


OVER THE MUD 


151 

again for me to help him, but I made no sign. 
Then Katherine came along with a stout plank 
in her arms which she had recovered from the 
debris of a stores’ cart. “ Oh,” she cried, “ why 
have you left Mr. Cathcart? ” and mechanically 
I came to my feet and started to fix the plank 
across the mouth of the hole. Then by the help 
of the lady we started to drag him, so that his 
hands should rest on the plank. It was a hard 
task, for he had sunk deeper since I had left him, 
and it taxed our strength to the utmost. Inch 
by inch, however, we succeeded in dragging him 
up towards the plank, until at last he grappled 
it, and lifted himself to his armpits and so 
crawled on to the ground. He looked an inex- 
pressibly dirty figure, soaked from head to foot 
in slime; several lizards crawled over his legs. I 
rejoiced to see him so. 

Katherine turned to me. ‘‘ Why did you 
leave him? — it was very brave,” she said scorn- 
fully. 

Cathcart remarked nothing, although I 
waited several seconds for him to speak. “ Oh, 
I don’t know,” I said at last; “ I suppose I was 
tired.” 

“ Tired!” she repeated contemptuously. 

This last incident seemed to put me once 


152 


A LADY’S HONOR 


more out of her favor, and to produce again a 
feeling at least of sympathy for Cathcart. She 
turned to him as we stood together. “ I hope,” 
she said, “ that you are not poorly again.” 

“ I am already greatly better for your ask- 
ing,” he said with a show of gratitude. 

We had, however, now little opportunity for 
private differences, as the lights of the town 
showed clear ahead, blinking and winking to us 
in a way which might be interpreted either as a 
bright welcome at our coming, or as an evil 
omen of our distress. 

It was at this time, perhaps about half-an- 
hour after the recovery of Cathcart, and whilst 
we were making steady though painful progress, 
that I heard the sound of a musket-butt grind 
against the scabbard of a bayonet. The night 
was still and clear, and noises carried far, and I 
knew that sound as I knew the sound of my 
father’s voice. Sounds, like scents, are in each 
of us associated with circumstances, and 
whether they be pleasant or painful, they each 
convey definite impressions. I had spent too 
many weary hours at drill not to recognize this 
familiar noise. 

Yet who could tell whether they that were 
approaching were friend or foe? If the latter. 


OVER THE MUD 


153 


it seemed only fitting to the irony of human cir- 
cumstance that I should be permitted toi ap- 
proach so near to my objective, and then to 
see my hopes fall before me like a pack of cards. 
I knew, of course, that small parties on both 
sides approached to within hailing distance of 
each other’s camps, hoping to obtain informa- 
tion or to cut off spies. 

We crouched in the mud and waited. We 
had been compelled by this time to such famil- 
iarity with the marshes that an ounce or two 
more of mud upon us made little difference to 
our appearance. It was a horrid position for a 
lady, but the facts have to be told. 

Well, so we crouched in the mud and waited. 
I suppose we had hit upon the only negotiable 
way through the morass, for the party advanced 
straight for us. I think we were all by this time 
too dead beat to care what happened next. We 
had not had a proper meal for many hours, and 
we were famished and dog-tired. 

Matters, it is commonplace to observe, 
which at some times irritate, at others delight. 
The Lancashire dialect on most occasions does 
not please me, but it broke out here like the 
music of many angels: 

‘‘Who coomes there? ’’ rang out a tremen- 


154 


A LADY’S HONOR 


dous voice from the darkness. “ Halt, I saay, 
and give the countersign.” 

For a moment I hesitated in pure delight, 
Of the countersign I had no more idea than of 
the writing on the Pyramids. All the same, I 
had an English tongue in my head. I sprung to 
my feet and flung my cap, which somehow I had 
managed to retain, high in the air. 

“ God save the Queen! ” I shouted, and fell 
forward on the ground in a faint. 

Then I felt myself lifted foot and head like 
a sack of sand and carried over the mud. So 
we came to the town. We were all brought to- 
gether to a barn-like building, which I found to 
be the guard-house. Katherine was taken in 
charge by an elderly female, who spread out her 
wings as it were, and with whom Katherine de- 
parted. To our friend with the Lancashire voice 
I confided the fact that I was entrusted with a 
message of importance from the Duke to the 
Prince. He informed me, however, that Eugene 
was on a visiting round of the camp, which had a 
radius of several miles. At this it was thought 
that I. should accompany him in his search for 
the Prince. Ultimately it was decided that four 
men and himself should set out in different 
directions to inform the Prince that a messenger 


OVER THE MUD 


155 


was awaiting him in the guard-house. This, it 
was thought, would be the quickest means of 
bringing us together. Also, I suspected, it was 
thought preferable to secure us to make sure of 
our honesty. Hereupon Cathcart and I were 
left to ourselves and the door locked behind us. 
Outside we could hear the regular beat of the 
sentry’s boots on the flag-stones. 

Cathcart and myself were left alone. I 
waited for him to speak, but this he did not do, 
contenting himself — being still fresh from the 
mud — with cleaning his finger-nails with a slip 
of wood and whistling softly. 

A terrier was lying in the corner. Evidently 
the animal was in pain, for every now and again 
it whined piteously. I am afraid I was too en- 
grossed with my business and situation to con- 
cern myself with the animal’s trouble. Cathcart, 
however, lifted the beast on to the table and 
examined him with great care. Soon he discov- 
ered the cause of the animal’s distress, which 
was a thorn in its right fore pad. This with 
practised gentleness Cathcart extracted with his 
teeth, the dog showing his gratitude by licking 
his hands. 

Then he set the dog down and proceeded 
with his nail-cleaning. 

II 


A LADY’S HONOR 


156 

Yours is a pretty humanity,” I com- 
menced. 

Oh no,” said he, with a gesture of depreca- 
tion — as if the charge were more than his mod- 
esty would permit him to accept. 

'' I have not made up my mind about your 
breed,” said I; “ I think you must be some new 
human cur whose particulars are not yet entered 
in any catalogue.” 

“ A happy idea,” said he pleasantly. 

“ My own share in the business is no mat- 
ter,” said I; “ my cousin, too, can take care of 
herself.” 

‘‘ Even so,” he said smilingly. 

There is another affair,” I went on, “ which, 
concerns both of us. About this I will tell you 
a tale.” 

Do,” he responded cordially. 

I continued: Once there was a horseman — 
a soldier and a gallant gentleman — and he set 
out from London on the North Road for his 
home. On the way he was set upon by a num- 
ber of cutpurses. He at this, I think, broke his 
way through, but when near to his home he 
was overtaken and s^et upon again by two of 
the thieves. One man fought him sword against 
sword, allowing him, it would seem, a chance for 


OVER THE MUD 


157 


his life. Such wondrous fair-play was not how- 
ever to the taste of the companion. He must 
have been a soldier of England indeed and the 
flower of chivalry; for what was the behavior 
of this brave and gallant gentleman? ” 

“ Enough of this! ” cries Cathcart hoarsely; 
his face had altered so that he might have been 
another person. 

“ His conduct,’^ I persisted, “ was in the 
cream of good breeding. He resorted to no 
brutal, straightforward murder, which he would 
properly have reckoned vulgar. On the other 
hand, he had resort to a refined and gentle- 
manly device — an act of stabbing. When the 
traveler was at sword-play with his fellow-thief, 
he straightway rushes under the soldier’s sword 
and stabs him in the side with a dagger. I 
would lay no stress upon such an act: no doubt 
they are common to you.” 

It was the first time,” I heard him say. 

But the difference lies in this,” I went on, 
‘‘ that whereas your common crimes are nothing 
to me, in the present instance I am deeply 
concerned.” 

What do you mean? ” he cried. 

“ The gentleman you stabbed in the moon- 
light was my father,” I said quietly. 


158 A LADY’S HONOR 

I watched Cathcart’s face. At nearly every 
time it showed a clear delight at living, and the 
shining eye which is generally associated with 
an untroubled conscience. Occasionally — and 
this was such a time — the mask for a moment 
fell away, and showed his face a mirror of evil 
influences. Three times at most did I see him in 
this way, and the change was so shocking as to 
make one catch one’s breath. It was like a 
glimpse of hell. To see him thus transfigured 
would not have been to recognize him against 
his former happy complexion. For a moment 
now thus I saw his face, aflame with wicked 
lights, and then he lurched forward and lifted a 
heavy iron pot from the table and flung it fu- 
riously at my head. 

I think, however, that the look in his face 
had prepared me, in some measure, for a catas- 
trophe. I sprung lightly aside, and the pot 
crashed into the woodwork behind me. But for 
the jump, the pot, so far as I am concerned, 
would surely have settled the account. My 
blood was up. As Cathcart fell back, I sprung 
at him and hit him twice straight in the face with 
my clenched fist. With a curse, he staggered 
back against the woodwork. At the same time 
the door was flung open, and a great tall man 


OVER THE MUD 


159 


with a world-beaten face and wearing a plumed 
hat and a long sword strode into the room. At 
his heel was an aide-de-camp with a lantern. 
Shouted the latter, “ His Highness Prince 
Eugene will now see Corporal Crighton.” 


CHAPTER XI 

AN OCCASION ON WHICH WALKING WOULD HAVE 
BEEN PREFERABLE TO DRIVING 

A FITFUL oil lamp cast a feeble light over 
the scene. One half the place was in pitch dark- 
ness: only the center, in which I stood, was in 
light: and in parts shadows started and capered 
like lively things. One corner was full of shad- 
ows, and into this Cathcart had fallen back. I 
had, not forgotten him, however, and I sug- 
gested that he should step outside, which he did 
unwillingly enough. ’ , 

Prince Eugene was a man utterly without 
mannerism, one or some of which scarcely any 
man is without. He carried himself, though 
elderly, quite stiff and straight; spoke but sel- 
dom, and then without ornament, and straight 
as a knife to the matter in hand. He never 
smiled or showed anger, and awarded punish- 
ment or commendation in the same rough, grat- 
ing voice. 

i6o 


WALKING PREFERABLE i6i 


At this time, as usual, he came straight to 
the point. “ You have business with me from 
General Marlborough. Be good enough to 
state what it is.” 

“ This is the message, your Highness,” I 
answered, and recited: “ ‘ Inform Prince Eugene 
I am determined to risk an engagement to save 
Oudenarde. Dutch deputies still obdurate. 
Request him to leave his army behind and meet 
me at Brussels on June ist to confer with me, 
for the single object of overcoming the objec- 
tions of the Dutch. Tell him I am confident he 
will agree with me as to the necessity for fight- 
ing. Imperiiim in imperioy ” I concluded. 

This message he made me repeat twice. “ It 
is well,” said he when I had finished; “ but you 
allow me small time for meditation. With 
hard riding it may be done — but I am an 
old man.” 

“ I could get here no sooner, your High- 
ness,” I replied, but offered no explanation. 

“ I judge affairs by their result,” he said. 
“ You and your companion can clean yourselves 
and follow.” And he turned on his heel and left 
without further remark. The only pleasant 
thought was that it was clear that he believed 


me. 


i 62 


A LADY'S HONOR 


I asked an orderly after my cousin Kath- 
erine, and was informed that clothing and neces- 
saries had been found for her. I saw no more 
of her for an hour. I had made what toilette 
I might, for there was great confusion, and the 
camp was breaking up. It was early morning 
of the 1st June. Cathcart was drinking in the 
guard-room. The Prince and his staff were de- 
parting, and we were to follow immediately. I 
was sitting on the grass in the open, thinking 
of my small chances for future fortune when a 
touch came upon my shoulder. I opened my 
eyes and saw Katherine. She looked very 
charming and quaint in a red cotton frock, 
clearly the former wear of a farmer’s wife. 
The skirt was too short, and the sleeves were 
too long. She wore a kerchief over her shoul- 
ders, but no hat upon her head. She looked 
deliciously cool and composed. She came and 
sat on the grass by my feet. She told me 
seriously that they were sending her to Brussels 
by a special escort, and that much was done for 
her comfort. 

“ O-o-o,"' she added, '' to-be-clean-again! '' 

“ If I happened to be your guardian,” I ob- 
served, which Heaven forbid, I should be in- 
clined to offer you advice.” 


WALKING PREFERABLE 163 

“ Oh please, Adam, dear,” she said, “ do not 
lecture me — I am only a woman.” 

“ I am afraid,” said I, “ when you say these 
engaging things you forget that I am only 
a man. Have you seen Mr. Cathcart? ” I 
added. 

“ Do not let us talk of him at this time,” she 
said. “ At present my fingers are filled with 
you. It is a sufficient responsibility. Adam,” 
she added, “ why are you always so very good 
to me? ” 

“ Fve never been good to you on purpose, 
and if I do not ill-treat you, why, I suppose it is 
only because it pleases me,” I said. 

“ Well,” she said, “ it pleases me to hear you 
say so, and that is admitting a good deal. 
Meantime, to deserve your thoughts, I shall 
endeavor to be an angel.” 

“ I shall,” I said, “ endeavor to think of you 
in that light.” 

“ I think perhaps I would rather you did 
not,” she said after a pause. A bugle rang 
through the camp. 

I shall have to go now very soon,” said 
she, but, Adam, if I should ever do any very 
silly thing ” 

“ What do you mean? ” I asked quickly. 


i 64 a LADY’S HONOR 

'' If,” she said slowly, “ I should ever do any- 
thing which you could not understand, and 
which I could not explain, and which the world 
wondered at, you will think of me always in the 
old way? We have been comrades, we will al- 
ways remember.” 

“ If what you mean — ” I commenced. 

“ I will not hear what I mean,” she an- 
swered. “ I do not know myself. If I knew 
what I was saying I should be sure of myself. 
Oh what nonsense am I telling you! Forget all 
about my silly talk, Adam. There,” she ended, 
I will kiss you.” 

We were now standing and she put her 
hands on my shoulders and kissed me on the 
lips. It was not a cold kiss, but one full of 
warmth and expression, if one may say so. I 
am not sure that I ever suspected her character 
to incline towards an especially temperate zone, 
but it is the kiss that really tells. She looked up 
at me, although she was nearly my height, in an 
appealing melting way. It was something I 
wondered at in that time, but of which I think 
clearly now. Then of a sudden, and with what 
seemed a touch of contrition, she bowed her 
head and stayed on my shoulder. I am not 
sure that she did not catch a sob. For a 


WALKING PREFERABLE 165 


breath she stayed so: I could jus.t feel the 
beating of her heart through the stillness of 
the morning. 

“ I would say good-bye to you,” she whis- 
pered, “ as the girl said good-bye to summer, 
only you would wonder how it was done, and I 
am sure I cannot tell you.’’ Then she drew her- 
self away and ran off. 

Two hours later, after Katherine had de- 
parted, when we had removed the most striking 
evidences of our travels and had borrowed fresh 
coats, Cathcart and I took our seats in the body 
of a tall cart. We knew we had a journey of a 
day and a night before us. Except through luck 
on the road there could be no change of horses, 
so we knew the business must be long and te- 
dious. We had however food and water and 
covering, which, compared to our recent cir- 
cumstances, was luxurious. The road too had 
been cleared of the enemy by the large party the 
Prince had with him. 

We climbed into the cart. The driver was 
inclined to be as silent as I was, and as Cath- 
cart could not very well talk to himself, we pro- 
ceeded all the morning and afternoon without 
any conversation. Cathcart was smoking in the 
corner of the cart, and staring at the fields as we 


A LADY’S HONOR 


1 66 

passed them. God knows what schemes were 
running in his mind. Since the incident of the 
mud-pit I had no doubt of his desires towards 
myself, and, in one way, I was glad his character 
was defined — it prepared me for the worst. 
Certain it was that I could not sleep in his com- 
pany. As the light was drawing in we lay on 
either side in the cart, seemingly unconcerned, 
but in reality closely watching each other. It 
was a game of cat and mouse, in which the odds, 
as usual, were all on one* side. Frankly, he was 
waiting for me to sleep in order that he might 
kill me. As for myself — and here was gross in- 
equity — I must wait for him to begin. The light 
failed and the dusk crept into darkness. It was 
a clear bright night. Over us hung a sky which 
was full of stars — large drops of lights, they 
hung in a heaven of unfathomable blue. Their 
light, one day, it may be, shall purge the world 
of human grossness and sin; for human interests 
seem to be disembodied as we look at the stars. 
Yet at my side lay a man with many sins on his 
soul, and at the present, I doubted not, murder 
in his heart. 

The strain of silence which, bad as it is, is 
sometimes worse than the strain of long talking, 
became so hard to bear that at last I began a 


WALKING PREFERABLE i6; 


conversation with the driver. He was however 
so far away, perched on a single seat, that any 
talk was difficult. Moreover, he was rather 
deaf, as some soldiers are who have been 
through many battles, and I soon desisted and 
fell to my former habit of silence. Now and 
again I shouted some words to him which 
brought me a feeling of company. 

Cathcart appeared now to be sleeping. The 
temptation for me to sleep seemed irresistible. 
Again and again I steadied myself as a man 
treading a slippery pole, who would for his 
life’s sake reach the end before resting. I sat 
in the corner of the cart with a steel bar at my 
back, but the fumes of sleep seemed to creep 
over me like a drug. I thought if I could impro- 
vise some physical pain I might drive off this 
pest of sleepiness. Nature however is said 
never to forgive. I had found no rest for many 
hours, and against me the odds of the struggle 
were overwhelming. Awake I had no fear of 
Cathcart; but what account is a man in his 
sleep? 

But with all my thoughts I clung to con- 
sciousness; yet as I lay with my eyes wide open 
one half of me was slipping away. I seemed to 
be shooting like a star through the night, only 


A LADY’S HONOR 


1 68 

in stages which were marked by my own will 
which brought me up every now and again, like 
a clock, to a full stop. I felt as if I were tumbled 
from place to place, and as I found lodgment 
my complete consciousness returned. Not, I am 
sure, that ever I closed my eyes, for I fought 
against the temptation as a man who sees death 
in his mind clear and undesirable. 

Again I fancied Cathcart was sleeping, and I 
wondered that I could not kill him as he would 
surely kill me were I thus helpless. His hands, 
which were beautifully shaped, lay before him. 
Then he looked up with a start and an evil smile, 
and I saw that he had been shamming, but he 
did not speak to me. We lay for some time 
thus watching each other through the backs of 
our eyes. Then I sprung to my feet and shook 
away the sleep which clung to me like the 
meshes of a net. 

Here,” I called, “ come off the seat. I will 
drive for a while.” 

'' I’ve got my orders,” returned the driver 
shortly, “ and I keep them,” and I had no choice 
but to drop back to my former place, and Cath- 
cart smiled again. How he managed now to 
keep awake I cannot tell. He had extraordinary 
will power in some directions, whilst in others it 


WALKING PREFERABLE 169 


was non-existent. His hatred for me must have 
been great indeed for him to sacrifice a natural 
desire. 

The cart jolted heavily over stones, but all 
the same in the fight against sleep I felt I was 
gradually losing. A delicious numbness stole 
over me. It was to my weariness like a beau- 
tiful fairy mantle, but I knew that to accept it 
was to deliver myself helpless to my enemy. 
He lay now in his corner with a soft sly look in 
his eye like that of a snake. I even wished he 
would talk to me. It seemed that spoken words 
of any sort would break up this intolerable 
strain. If he would have stood up and struck 
me in the face I* would have shouted in joy, for 
there would have been clear and definite trouble 
to be met. 

At last I could hold myself no longer. 
“ What are you waiting for? ” I cried to him. 

I will not give up. God help me, I will hold 
out as long as you. What are you waiting 
for? ” He made no answer. He only looked at 
me in his quiet, soft way, and smiled with that 
charming kindliness that I had learned to 
loathe. 

It was now past midnight, as I reckoned. 
The moon was poised high in the heaven,- shin- 


170 


A LADY’S HONOR 


ing clear and pure as if for the first time to 
mortal eye her face she had uncovered. 

“ When’ll we reach Brussels? ” I shouted to 
the driver. 

“Daybreak,” he answered shortly. 

So we went on. Once and again as we 
passed the turn in the road I saw the lights of 
Brussels far ahead, glittering like sparks in a 
bowl. 

What irony in nature was Cathcart! He 
was so good to look upon. An oval face was 
his, with clear, beautiful eyes and firmly pen- 
ciled eyebrows and long lashes; his mouth was 
full of changing expression; his lips ripe, but 
with no unnatural ripeness; his ears were deli- 
cately shaped, as were his hands; his hair was 
chestnut brown, glossy, and perfectly kept. In 
figure he was lithe and slim, and carried him- 
self straight like a lance. Yet with all these 
personal advantages, his beauty of form and 
charm of manner, there must have been a mag- 
got in his soul. I seemed now to see past the 
favors Nature had allotted him, and his soul 
was naked and horrible. The sight of him to 
me was bitter and nauseous, like the taste of 
blood. 

Suddenly as I mused I glanced at Cathcart. 


WALKING PREFERABLE 171 


His eyes were closed, his under-jaw was slightly 
dropped, and his face showed a queer contor- 
tion. If he was not asleep, I had never seen a 
man in that condition. In sleep a man has no 
command of his expression; and so it was with 
Cathcart. The grace of his countenance had 
departed, and in its place was the play of influ- 
ences which in consciousness he would have 
hidden. It was as if one had been watching a 
becalmed pool, and suddenly a storm grew and 
broke up its surface into cross-cuts and dis- 
turbances. At once I knew I was safe and I 
might sleep, but strangely a wakefulness re- 
turned to me, until at last with a crack of his 
whip our driver shouted the countersign, and 
passed the guard; and as daylight was spreading 
drove over the cobbles into Brussels. 

Eugene had arrived and was already with 
the Duke. We reported ourselves to the officer 
of the guard, who provided us with leave until 
I might be able to see his Grace, who was, of 
course, considerably engaged. Cathcart and I 
departed on different ways, and I sat on a public 
seat beneath trees, and began to turn over in 
my mind the situation. 

What is now my duty towards Cathcart? 

I asked myself again and again. Possessing 
12 


172 


A LADY’S HONOR 


tangible evidence of no sort, I cannot hand him 
over to the authorities. Further, a civil affair 
is of small consequence in military times. To 
kill him unawares did not recommend itself to 
me. To fight him seemed the only course, but 
to fight a felon seemed something of a degrada- 
tion. I might have consulted my uncle, who, 
after all, was my father’s brother, and who, I had 
no doubt, must be in Brussels with the Duke. 
The relationship, however, which I now knew to 
exist between the two, disposed of this alterna- 
tive. My duty, therefore, was perplexing to me. 

All the morning I loitered about the streets 
and ways of Brussels, reporting myself again 
and again at the Duke’s headquarters, to be 
always informed that he was still engaged. The 
town was full of soldiers and gay holiday- 
makers, and it was pleasant to see beings in 
clean clothes after my travels in desert places. 
Women, bright-eyed and friendly, passed and 
repassed. I talked to soldiers about the war. 
'' Have you not heard,” said one, “ that the 
French are advancing upon Oudenarde? The 
Duke is going to give them battle. There will 
be great times for some of us — for others no 
time at all.” 

Are the enemy in numbers? ” I asked. 


WALKING PREFERABLE 173 


Why, man,” he said, “ have you been 
sleeping? Out of France there never came so 
great an army.” 

So in this way we sat and chatted about the 
things which soldiers talk about, until, after a 
time, two figures approached who caused me to 
start. Sir Peter Crighton and Cathcart ap- 
peared along the Avenue, talking gravely to- 
gether. I fancy they would have wished to pass 
me, for they turned as they appeared, but I 
made straight for them. My uncle at once 
seemed to me, for the first time in my ex- 
perience, in an affable mood, whilst Cathcart as 
usual smiled — I knew now what to reckon that 
smile. 

“ Mr. Cathcart has told me,” said my uncle, 
how greatly you have distinguished yourself, 
and how to you he is beholden for his life. I 
think, nephew,” he went on, “ that I have mis- 
judged you. If I were not so far your senior, 
I would ask your pardon.” 

Mr. Cathcart,” said I, “ is indeed generous 
to say such things as you express. I am sure 
I rightly appreciate his recommendation. 
There appears no end to the kindness of both 
of you. It is especially pleasant to find you 
combined in such happy relations.” 


174 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ Now surely what a good kind fellow Adam 
is,” Cathcart broke in; “he has always some 
pretty, amiable speech to fit the occasion.” 

“ I cannot prevent myself from thinking,” 
said my uncle in a qualifying tone, “ that I my- 
self am scarcely exonerate — I do not deserve 
to be.” 

“ For myself,” Cathcart continued, “ I can 
never bargain for complete absolution. Heaven 
help me that I am not blessed with gentle man- 
ners — as Adam is. Some are so endowed, and 
find it hard to bear with natural ineptitude. 
Pity me that I am not polite.” 

“ On the other hand,” said I, “ there is 
something to be said for boorishness which is 
honest, at least, in the intention. Sir, is it not 
so? ” I added, turning to my uncle. 

“ No, no,” he answered, shaking his head; 
“ I will not be enticed. I have no turn for meta- 
physics.” 

“ Sir,” says Cathcart, “ Adam, like my Lord 
Chesterfield, sets his stars upon the graces. As 
a plain man,” he went on, “ 1 cannot see that 
the veneer is such great matter — if the depth be 
genuine. If a man omits some convention un- 
wittingly, why, he is to be pitied, not blamed. 
The true intent is so often inarticulate.” 


WALKING PREFERABLE 175 

“ I rejoice,” said I, “ at these angelic senti- 
ments. I shall watch for their expression.” 

“ You are a good boy, Adam,” says my 
uncle, “ and do well to bear no malice for slight 
things. If I had concerned myself in my time 
with all the small affronts with which I have 
been beset, why, I must be a hundred to count 
them.” 

“ It is the truth what you say,” said I, “ that 
slight things are of no matter and are best for- 
gotten. Yet, as I take it, there may be affairs 
so far greater that they inevitably — although 
we would have it otherwise — force themselves 
on our concern.” 

“ How large a gift,” says Cathcart, “ is that 
turn of mind which distinguishes the degrees 
and differences in our friends’ offences.” 

However, it is a gift,” says Sir Peter, 
glancing at me with a nod, “ which should be 
used only moderately. I have known cases,” 
he continued, “ in which those who have been 
enthusiastic in such directions have of a sudden 
found themselves subdued.” 

“Yes,” Cathcart interjected; “great care 
should be exercised in detecting the shades.” 

“ All the same,” said I, “ one knows which 
is black, and which is white.” 


176 


A LADY’S HONOR 


My experience,” says Sir Peter, '' whatever 
it may be worth — is in the direction that there 
are few distressing things in this world which it 
may not be wiser to forget, as, if we are not 
mistaken in our conclusions — which is always 
possible — the facts we complain of cannot be 
altered.” 

We were now seated at a little table outside 
a cafe in the Grand Avenue. The present posi- 
tion was certainly clear to me. The father and 
son were in treaty together, and behind their 
soft words there was a menace which boded only 
ill to me. I think I am no coward, and can face 
danger on the straight with a good heart, but 
this gentle villainy was not easy to circumvent. 
I had no doubt they had some plan in their 
heads, and some meaning which they meant to 
convey in their own time. Nor was I long in 
doubt. 

As a physician,” says my uncle softly, “ I 
am not satisfied as to your health. So serious 
is it that I am forced to say that you need a rest. 
I should be sorry to see a promising career un- 
towardly ended. Speaking to you as a relation, 
I should most strongly counsel you to accept my 
advice.” 

'' Sir, what may that be? ” I asked. 


WALKING PREFERABLE 177 


If I were to prevail upon the authorities,” 
he continued, “ to grant you leave of absence 
to England after your recent meritorious serv- 
ices, you would be inclined to go, I take it? ” 

“ Oh no. Sir Peter,” cries Cathcart, “ do not 
coerce our young friend.” 

“ You would be inclined to go, I take it? ” 
repeated my uncle, and I think this was the only 
remark of decent intention in the whole pro- 
ceeding. 

“ Sir,” said I, “ I would see you both damned 
first ! ” and then they left me. 


CHAPTER XII 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 

My next business was to discover the where- 
abouts of my cousin Katherine. This I set for- 
ward by inquiring for the Countess Vanburton, 
her godmother. The Count Vanburton, her 
husband, as I knew, must be with the Headquar- 
ters Staff; and where he was the Countess would 
also be found. The Count was a very busy man, 
and although his tastes were domestic, he could 
spend few moments in his home; he was English 
in his sympathies and in some part of his blood. 
He acted as a go-between for the Dutch and the 
British, and was frequently in the company of 
the great Duke. 

Therefore I had no difficulty in discovering 
that the Countess was staying at the Hotel 
Angleterre, which was a building, as I found it, 
more distinguished for interior comfort than 
structural beauty. 

In their sitting-room I found not only the 
Countess and my cousin, but also Mr. Reginald 
178 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 179 


Cathcart. All fell into a sudden silence as I 
entered. From this I deduced that I was the 
subject of their most recent conversation. Cath- 
cart spoke first. “ Here,” says he gaily, “ is our 
cousin Adam — home from the wars.” His 
endeavor at the present appeared to be by ami- 
ability and kind sayings to insinuate himself into 
the good opinions of the ladies. How Kath- 
erine could be so blind I had no comprehension. 
My indignation, however, was not unlikely to 
show me in the most unfavorable shade — cross- 
grained and ill-tempered. I thought it there- 
fore the wisest way to attempt to get away be- 
fore my temper took hold of me. I choked to 
see this devil smiling. 

“ It is the slightest call I am attempting,” I 
tried to say pleasantly, “ and I am merely here 
to ask permission to call later, when you are 
disengaged,” and I bowed and turned to the 
door. 

“ Oh no, no, Adam! ” cries Cathcart, starting 
up; ‘‘ it is not like this you are going to leave. 
I believe,” he said, turning to the ladies, “ that 
if I were not here your cousin would be quite 
comfortable.” 

“ Mr. Cathcart,” said I, “ has surely this 
time stated the truth.” 


i8o 


A LADY’S HONOR 


I wish you two could be friends,” says 
Katherine. 

Let me see you clasp hands,” says the 
Countess with intended kindliness. 

I would at this time have cheerfully hanged 
rather than shaken hands with Cathcart. I 
thanked Heaven, therefore, that a diversion came 
about. The little daughter of the Countess sud- 
denly dashed into the room, not knowing there 
were visitors. At the door she drew up short, 
as a man does before plunging into deep water. 
Her face showed pure perplexity. Cathcart 
called to her, “ You come to me, little madam,” 
he said, and smiled and held out his hand. She 
looked at him with a little tender hesitation; 
then she ran to him and he swung her on to his 
knees. She looked at him some time with blank 
curiosity. “ Well, what do you think of me? ” 
says Cathcart. ‘‘ I like you,” she said at last, 
and they both laughed. “ Now what do you say 
to love at first sight? ” asks Cathcart, with a 
light glance at my cousin. 

'' Second sight, I imagine, is more reliable,” 
says the Countess. 

Cathcart held the baby’s hand. “ Tell us too 
what you think of this gentleman,” says he, 
pointing to me. She looked at me critically for 


I SIT IN THE SNOW i8i 


some little while. I think he is — odd,” she 
said quietly. “ Do you think so? ” she asked, 
turning to Katherine. My cousin shook her 
head. Fll not commit myself,” said she, 
laughing; and the baby was sent off to bed. 

I am thinking of giving a dance to my 
friends in the army,” continued the Countess 
when, after this distraction we had settled in 
our chairs. “ As I am told you will both shortly 
receive your commissions, I shall hope to see 
you both present.” 

Adam, I am afraid,” Cathcart remarked in 
a tone of resignation, “ will not be pleased to 
come if I am present.” 

He would not be so unreasonable,” said 
Katherine, turning to me indignantly; ‘‘one 
would consider that Mr. Cathcart were poison- 
ous.” 

“ Anyhow,” said Cathcart, “ I hope that it 
is only to Adam I am horrible.” 

“ I think, Mr. Crighton,” remarked the 
Countess, “ that you must exaggerate some 
small mischief into a great evil.” 

“ Madam,” says Cathcart, “ it is not my 
fault that you are disturbed by these private 
feuds and grievances. It is not, I know, becom- 
ing that they are introduced to a lady’s draw- 


i 82 


A LADY'S HONOR 


ing-room. For myself, I am guiltless of any 
thought of harm. If I have done wrong, I ex- 
press regret. I am not without sin; but I cast 
no stone.” 

“ Adam,” said Katherine, “ what it is in Mr. 
Cathcart which is so distasteful to you I can- 
not tell. To me it seems not fair nor pardonable 
for you so suddenly to scorn your friend.” 

“ Mr. Crighton,” interpolated the Countess, 
who seemed to have some instinct of the false- 
ness of Cathcart’s talking, “ Mr. Crighton may 
have special reasons with which we are unac- 
quainted, and for which, as it is not our business, 
we have no right to ask him.” 

“ If Adam has reasons,” says Cathcart, “ I 
challenge him to show them. It is not just that 
I should be thus sentenced in the dark — without 
indictment or appeal.” 

‘‘ Mr. Cathcart, believe me,” said I, “ is per- 
fectly informed of my reasons. I will not say 
that which I might be sorry for. It is an affair 
in which I must take my own course — which is 
to say nothing.” 

'' I only think,” says my cousin with some 
heat, “ that it is a gross injustice to Mr. Cath- 
cart to insinuate and cast aspersions — and then 
to say nothing. It is not right to say these 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 183 


things which are not just. I do not know what 
they are — I do not wish to know— but I am 
sure they are not true. At least,” she con- 
cluded, “ Adam is misinformed.” 

“ Thank you indeed for saying that,” says 
Cathcart, his voice full of thankfulness. 

“ I fancy,” says the Countess, with some 
further inkling of his character, “ that Mr. Cath- 
cart is a trifle premature in his gratitude. Be- 
sides,” she added, “ I must insist that this mat- 
ter has gone far enough.” 

'' Mr. Cathcart has not been treated fairly, I 
think,” says Katherine again; “ I will say no 
more, but I do not mind before whom I say 
that,” and she looked me straight in the eyes 
with her fine proud look. 

I am sorry, Katherine, you think in this 
way,” said I, “ but I cannot help it. If my wish- 
ing things otherwise could alter them, then they 
were changed. Whatever my conduct and con- 
clusions, I must ask you to think that I have 
sure ground for them. For the rest, you must 
think as you believe,” and greatly distressed, I 
rose to take my leave. 

'' Sit for a while,” said the Countess kindly 
to me, and you may not mind matters so 
much.” 


184 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ If Mr. Crighton wishes to leave, pray do 
not prevent him,” said Katherine; and I found 
my way into the street. 

‘‘ The Duke might see you in two hours,” I 
was informed when later in the afternoon I had 
called for the ninth time at Headquarters. I 
waited for two hours, and at the end of this time 
a staff officer came out. “ The Duke is unable 
to see you,” he said, “ but I have been ordered 
to deliver this message. In consideration of 
your services, which his Grace appreciates, 
I have to tell you that you have been ap- 
pointed with Private Cathcart to a commis- 
sion in the Ninth Dragoons. You will take 
a captain’s commission, and your friend that of 
a lieutenant. His Grace was sure you would be 
glad to be together,” he added kindly, and left 
me. Certainly thus the prophecy of the Count- 
ess came to be true, but I think I would have 
preferred to have been in the canteen by myself 
than in the mess-room in company with Cath- 
cart. 

For the next few days, when I was not busy 
in the new duties which fell to me, I caught 
glimpses of Katherine and Cathcart together in 
the city. Sometimes I would see them in the 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 185 


narrow streets with flowers in their arms; at 
others they would be sitting together in the 
Grand Avenue; or they would be driving in a 
queer shaking little cart which could be hired in 
the city for a franc piece. 

Katherine would wave her hand when I saw 
her, or nod in a proud way as suited her mood; 
and I was always at great pains not to walk 
close to them. The whole affair was a very 
lively torture to me. When I appeared on the 
horizon, as it were, they seemed to be in a spe- 
cial endeavor to appear delighted with each 
other, as I made no doubt but that they were. 
I fancy, perhaps, they slightly overdid the part. 
Even if they were silent when I sighted them, 
then, just as soon as they espied me, they always 
fell to talking with great spirit and animation. 
As I walked off, the experience felt rather as if 
my feet were being grilled on the stones. Al- 
though I showed no sign of my discomfort, I 
presume they were perfectly acquainted with my 
martyrdom. To speculate upon the reflections 
of other people is always hazardous. My im- 
pression, however, is that although my position 
supplied unalloyed pleasure to Cathcart, yet I 
think my cousin was not completely happy 
about it. In so small a place iUwas inevitable 


A LADY’S HONOR 


1 86 

that we should often meet. I could not pass my 
leisure hours in the open country, but in the city 
I spent many of them in carrying out compli- 
cated maneuvers for avoiding my tormentors. 
My principle was to take them as my objective, 
and to execute extensive turning movements to 
place myself on their flank or rear. 

Cathcart, for his part, must have been at 
immense pains to prevent my seeing Katherine 
by herself, and I was too proud to call on her 
again. For a week this comedy continued, and 
then at the end I met her face to face in the 
market-place. She was buying fruit at a stall, 
and I came upon her suddenly as she turned. 
She blushed very dark. My heart was pump- 
ing hard at my side, and I could feel my 
knees in a tremble. I pulled myself together to 
speak. 

“ Well? ” said I. 

Well? ” she repeated. 

Her eyes were bright and her mouth proud, 
and she carried herself regally. I always rather 
feared her at these times. 

'' So far you have succeeded,’' she remarked. 

“ I am glad to think,” said I, that I get on 
at something.” 

'' I mean,’# said she, “ that for many days 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 187 


you have been at a task to put as much of the 
country as possible between you and I.” 

“ I merely endeavor, cousin, to anticipate 
your wishes,” I remarked. 

“ My wishes, Adam,” said she, “ must be an 
occupation to you.” 

“ I am afraid,” I returned, “ that shortly I 
shall find my occupation gone.” 

There is a meaning in what you say? ” she 
inquired in a quiet tone. 

“ I think you take my meaning,” said I. I 
do not wish to say anything in reference to Mr. 
Cathcart, but I do not think he is a person with 
whom a lady should have meetings.” 

“ And pray,” she questioned, with a lift 
in her brow, “ who constituted you my pro- 
tector? ” 

“ I confess,” I replied, that I have nothing' 
but my own ideas to justify me — and also my 
own regard for yourself.” 

'' Then,” she cried, “ let me tell you that I 
have no welcome for your interference. Your 
prejudice is absurd to me. I have always 
thought so, and I think so still. I shall not 
listen to your libels.” 

Have I said one single word? ” I asked. 

I think you had not better,” she answered. 
13 


i88 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Then/' said I, “ I suppose there is nothing 
more to be said/' 

“ If," she returned, “ that is your only topic 
— nothing." 

‘‘ I have other topics," I answered, “ but at 
present this affair stands in the way." 

“ Surely," she said, “ think as you please 
about me. It is no matter to me." 

We were seated now on a wooden seat. She 
was tapping her heel on the gravel, which 
seemed to me an ominous sound, as if the nails 
were slowly hammered into my chances. 

'' I thought," I said at length, “ that you 
might have cared a trifle for my opinion." 

“ A strange fancy, indeed," said she. 

“ An English lady," I unwisely said, is sup- 
posed to care slightly for a man before she kisses 
him." 

“ But I, you see," said Katherine scornfully 
but also with a blush, have lived greatly in 
Europe, and cannot be expected to conform to 
English habits." Then she looked at me and 
smiled. 

Certainly this turn was slightly towards 
friendliness, and the thought, as I imagine, 
stiffened my dignity towards her. ‘‘Yes," said 
I, “ but there is also the case of Mr. Cathcart." 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 189* 

‘‘ You mean,” she said slowly, “ that you be- 
lieve I have kissed him.” 

“ Why, yes, I should say so,” said I unthink- 
ingly. 

The words had scarcely slipped over my 
tongue before I felt the error' of them. 

There was a silence, and I could hear street 
sounds and noises which before I had not 
heeded, and they filled my ears as I waited for 
her answer. It seemed as if I were sitting in the 
dark, not knowing the hour, waiting for the 
clock to strike. 

At last she dropped her hand on the seat in 
the space between us, and turning on her wrist 
faced round on me. Then she spoke straight: 

I think what you have said is enough,” she 
said slowly. There are many things I could 
bear from you, but that is not one of them. I. 
know you will explain — but I will not listen. 
What you have said proves that you think light- 
ly of me, and with that there is no more to say. 
Mr. Cathcart’s name you need mention no fur- 
ther. He has asked me to be his wife, and I 
have not said I will not.” 

We parted without any further word. 

My reflections on this scene were somewhat 
tangled. Cathcart, from what I could believe. 


A LADY’S HONOR 


190 

was scarcely the character to incline to matri- 
mony, and I made no doubt therefore that some 
fresh villainy was contemplated. My cousin’s 
pique with me seemed now so deep and thor- 
ough, due, I acknowledged, in a great measure 
to my want of finesse that I renounced all hope 
of friendliness. Indeed, I inclined to think from 
her conversation that I myself might provide 
the cause in her of some rash act. Cathcart 
would surely draw advantage from any oppor- 
tunity. Whatever his plans might be regarding 
Katherine, matrimony, I was quite sure, had no 
place in them. As for my cousin, I fancied I 
could see enough of the woman’s point of view 
to comprehend in some part the attraction that 
Cathcart offered. I do not think, however, that 
it was one to which she would have inclined 
altogether but for my own want of sensibility in 
my relations towards her. Such ideas did not 
minister to self-appraisement (which is the no- 
tion upon which a man best likes to loiter); but 
they were facts which presented themselves fair 
and square to my consideration. 

A week later I received a card for the Count- 
ess Vanburton’s ball. In the meantime I had 
heard nothing of Katherine, and only in camp 
had I seen Cathcart. I certainly saw him at 


I SIT IN THE SNOW 191 

mess, where he was, however, at the other end 
of the table, and also on parade, where, to my 
satisfaction, he was in another troop to mine, 
and so we were not brought together except in 
the affairs of our trade, and then not further 
than was necessary. 

If the two had meetings — and of this I made 
no doubt — it must have been in places other 
than those I frequented. Like Cinderella, I 
should have been aggrieved if I had not been 
invited to the ball; but unlike that fabled lady, 
I was not happy in the thought of it. It was 
as if, after a hard campaign, one of two soldiers 
was awarded high place and honors, whilst the 
other had to sit behind among the tinkers and 
tailors and witness the aggrandizement. Of 
course it would be a mighty fine time for the 
one, but I was the unfortunate other. Such 
thoughts were, I daresay, childish — as the word 
is used — and not a little unmanly, but I imagine 
they were very human. For the honor of my 
manhood I was glad, however, to reflect that I 
had begun to renounce my former ideas about 
Katherine, and to stiffen myself into some sort 
of dignity. If she really cared to think about 
Cathcart, why, I surely must pluck up, put the 
best face on, and step down; it was the way of 


192 


A LADY’S HONOR 


the world. Therefore I would, I concluded, best 
establish my pride and dignity, not by sulking 
away like a shamed school-boy, but by showing 
at the front like a man. Certainly I would go 
to the ball. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A STRANGE ROAD 

The Countess’s ball was a fine affair. As 
in old days Roman maidens followed with 
flowers the chariots of war, so now where the 
army regales itself, fair women bring shining 
eyes to the rejoicings. And here among many 
women there was none I thought so beautiful as 
Katherine. Nor was this merely a personal im- 
pression, for the eyes which followed her in the 
rooms, not of men only, but of women too, had 
in them that expression which admits no ques- 
tion. It was a scene through which it is suffi- 
cient to live for the present. The brilliant uni- 
forms of scarlet and gold and blue, the black and 
white of the civilians, the soft toilettes of the 
women, the sparkle of the lights, and the chal- 
lenging music — it was a scene for which war 
makes a background, as in Italy a splendid sun- 
set makes a background for a carnival. 

Early in the evening I met my uncle. Sir 

193 


194 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Peter. He looked distinguished in his plain 
court suit; his delicate face lighted, as he bowed 
here and there, by his intermittent smile. 

“ Adam,” said he as we met, I am sorry 
you are not gone away.” 

What sort of thing do you think me? ” I 
asked. “ I have not much opinion of my sense, 
but by the Lord, there shall be no running off.” 

“ Well, well, well,” said Sir Peter with a 
shrug, “you have had your chance; you can’t 
pretend to have taken it. Keep your temper: it 
is too late now. Your cousin has unusual shoul- 
ders,” he added. 

We stood apart for a while and watched the 
arrivals. 

“ Is the Duke coming, sir? ” I asked. 

“ Later, I believe, for a few minutes,” he 
answered. 

As he spoke a bugle rang out in the hall, 
and immediately the great doors were thrown 
open, and John Churchill, in the full uniform of 
a British General, and sparkling with orders, 
stood by himself. It was a picture that one sees 
on a stage — a grand entrance; and the gallants 
and young soldiers whose mouths before had 
been filled with high words, now fell into a hush. 
It was a great moment in life when the magnet- 


A STRANGE ROAD 


195 

ism which radiates from a great man reflects 
itself upon many lesser mortals. 

The waltz stopped; the band glided into the 
national anthem, and the hostess advanced a 
few paces to meet the Duke. I was standing 
near. 

“ I am charmed, madam,’' said he, “ to be 
present, if but for a few moments from business, 
at your splendid entertainment.” 

” Your Grace,” said the*lady, “ is kind to dis- 
tract yourself from state affairs to the small 
matters of a woman.” 

“ Ah, madam,” said he, “ who shall say 
where the one ends and the other begins? ” He 
passed quite close to where I was standing with 
my uncle. “ A fine night. Sir Peter,” said he, 
and went his way. 

“ Sir,” said I suddenly to my uncle, “ has it 
ever occurred to you to treat me fairly? ” 

“ I think not, nephew,” said he after a mo- 
ment’s thought. 

“ Would it be worth a trial? ” I asked. 

“ I will tell you cledrly,” says my uncle. “ I 
care for my profession first, and then for my son 
— although I know he is a scoundrel. I have no 
regard for any other thing. For the first, I 
would give my life; and for the second I would 


196 


A LADY’S HONOR 


sacrifice my honor. Is this straight talk? The 
issue at present .is clear. You wish to see my 
son either shot or hanged. It shall be neither.” 
And with this he passed away. 

I walked across to Katherine. There was 
gathered round her a circle of insinuating gal- 
lants, who endeavored to replace each other 
with an ingenuity for which, as I thought, no 
cause could have been better. I suppose I 
should have been ea*ten by jealousy; but it was 
not so. I think it gave me pure pleasure to see 
her so sought after. Therefore I waited my 
turn with what patience I might. At last it 
came. 

Katherine,” said I, stepping forward, and 
I was proud to call her by her name, “ will you 
allow me a dance with you? ” 

Why, Adam, of course,” said she and 
handed me her card. 

We danced one waltz together silently, so 
far as talking had to do. In some moments I 
hated myself and longed to ask pardon at her 
feet. At others I strengthened myself into dig- 
nity, and felt I would have given my tongue 
rather than lower my pride in her eyes. Sulki- 
ness is a mood which brings with it a sort of 
negative pleasure, but it is one — at least, as it 


A STRANGE ROAD 


197 


applies itself to women — from which there is 
seldom any profit. For the rest, I spent the 
evening little in dancing, but rather in watching 
Katherine, her eyes sparkling with pleasure, 
gliding over those rooms. Cathcart, handsome 
and gay in his new uniform, received four 
dances. Once they stayed quite close without 
seeing me. He turned to her and whispered 
something, and I heard her say, “ Oh, no, no; 
you must not say such things,” and again they 
passed out of hearing. 

Indeed, by this time I had almost stifled any 
thought of Katherine in my own interests. I 
began to consider her as one might one’s sister 
— that her honor was dearer to me than my own. 
I must have no other thought of her, I told my- 
self. I am afraid, at this day, that these reflec- 
tions could not have been quite the truth, but I 
persuaded myself to believe them so. To me 
then it seemed very idealistic and beautiful, but 
I can see now that it was an attitude singularly 
lacking in spirit and enterprise. 

I saw no more of the two until towards the 
end, after I had taken my last partner back to 
her place, when I observed Katherine slowly 
threading her way through the crowd towards 
me. I went out to meet her. 


198 


A LADY’S HONOR 


'' Adam/' she said, “ there is to be an extra 
dance, and the last; would you care to ask me 
for it?” 

“ Why,” said I, “ surely I will do that — 
Cousin, may I dance with you?” 

I danced this last set with my cousin, and 
the time came when I helped her into her god- 
mother’s coach. Then I noticed Cathcart stand- 
ing by our side. She took her seat; I held the 
handle of the door; Cathcart stood on the steps 
smiling in that easy, graceful way we both knew 
so well. 

Adam,” she whispered, “ the Countess will 
stay on; you give the word to the coachman, 
then jump in quickly and drive home with me.” 
I nodded. 

“ All right now. Home,” I called to the man 
on the box, and the driver shook his reins. 

The coach rolled off. I opened the door, 
sprung in, and closed it after me. 1 heard a 
clatter of feet on the box and then a cry from 
Cathcart, You sneaks! ” as we rolled away. 

My cousin was in one corner of the coach, I 
in the other. At our back was an oil lamp. 
‘'Turn out the lamp: I wish to talk to you,” 
she said. I obeyed. The wick spluttered; there 
was a low light; and then we were in darkness. 


A STRANGE ROAD 


199 


“ Adam/’ said she, “ you are a gentleman — 
most of these gentlemen are not. It is for this 
reason I shall talk clear to you.” In the dark- 
ness I could see of her nothing but a mystic 
figure in indefinite white. “ No, let me go on,” 
she continued before I could answer. It is of 
Mr. Cathcart I am speaking; you have regard 
for him or not, as you please, but also you have 
some feelings of friendship for myself. I did 
not know what he had been thinking of me, but 
I know now. It is all changed. To-night he 
talked to me so that I could have struck him. I 
cannot tell if I thank God that I did or did not. 
I cannot tell you what he said, but, Adam, I 
have no brother; will you do the man’s part 
for me? ” 

“ Yes, I will do that with pleasure,” I an- 
swered slowly. “ You have been a long while 
finding out,” I added. 

“ It was, I am afraid, because I would not 
think so,” she said with in her voice a touch of 
humility. 

We had driven some time in silence. Our 
way home should not have lasted twenty 
minutes at the most. I had every reason to ex- 
pect the time to run all too fast, and even so it 
seemed to me we had been driving a consider- 


200 


A LADY’S HONOR 


able time. I did not care to suggest we were 
making a pretty long tour home — as it might 
have seemed I was in a hurry to be off — which 
surely I was not, for I would have driven with 
Katherine anywhere until the end of time. All 
outside was pitch dark. Katherine, from the 
fatigues of the night, was dropping into sleep. 
I relighted the oil lamp, and found myself won- 
dering how that many women appear so charm- 
ing in their sleep, while most men look such 
sorry spectacles. 

I looked at my watch. It was four o’clock, 
and we had started at two. For two hours, 
therefore, we had been driving to a destination 
which we should have reached in twenty min- 
utes. Either the driver must be drunk or we 
were hopelessly out of our course. In the coach 
there were only two windows — high ones, on the 
top panel of the doors. These and also the door 
I vainly endeavored to unfasten. ‘‘Hi!” I 
shouted to the driver, “ you, sir, where are you 
going? ” but from the great rumbling of the 
coach it was clear no sound could be heard out- 
side. 

Katherine opened her eyes. Wonderful 
eyes were those of Katherine’s — there was 
never any sleep in them; once they were open, 


A STRANGE ROAD 


201 


they were always shining and clear. It was 
however a sleepy voice which asked, “ What is 
the matter, Adam? I was dreaming a beautiful 
dream.’' 

“ Nothing’s the matter,” said I; “only it is 
past four, and we do not seem to know the way 
we are driving.” 

She started to her feet, her shawls and cloak 
awry, and tried to peer through the window; 
she stood a charming disorder of silks and laces, 
with the white of her throat showing alluringly 
clear in the faint light. I was behind her, my 
hand resting lightly on her soft shoulder, and 
together we stared out of the high window. 
Faintly I could discern trees on the road-side: 

“It is strange,” she said quietly; “ I never 
saw this road before.” 

The coach was an old one, and, as I have 
said, there were only two windows and these 
high up on the doors; and windows and doors 
alike I was unable to open. Then I rapped on 
the front panels (on the outside of which should 
be the driver) with the hilt of my sword. I 
rapped softly, then heavily, and then I beat with 
all my might. No sound was returned, except 
that of the whipping of horses, and the coach 
seemed to move faster. 


202 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Katherine looked at me in some disquie- 
tude. 

“ What is happening, Adam? ” she asked. 

“I can’t tell,” I answered candidly; “it is 
clear you are not being driven home. I should 
like to know where we are going and who is 
taking us there.” 

As I spoke I unsheathed my sword and broke 
one of the side windows with the hilt, and thrust 
my head through the aperture. 

“ What game is this you are playing? ” I 
shouted. 

The only answer I received was a cut across 
the face with the driving-whip, and I withdrew 
my head with a nasty weal straight across my 
cheek. 

“Oh Adam, are you badly hurt?” asked 
Katherine, with both her hands on my arm. 

“ My weal is my woe,” I answered, “ and 
that is nothing.” 

At this juncture, and quite suddenly, we 
heard the galloping of horses’ hoofs, and then, 
but a little later, a shout for us to stop. Of this 
our driver seemed to take no heed, although I 
do not think we made any faster pace. Gradu- 
ally nearer came the sound of the hoofs and 
then a pistol-shot rang out. The coach stopped. 


A STRANGE ROAD 


203 


there was the clash of two swords falling to- 
gether, a cry which might have been of pain, and 
then the coach door was flung wide open, and 
Mr. Reginald Cathcart, sword in hand, ap- 
peared at the threshold. 

‘‘ I hope this is an agreeable intrusion,” he 
remarked with a smile. 

Katherine said nothing. She held her lips 
together and stared at Cathcart as if he were 
a substance slightly opaque, but through which 
it was scarce worth the trouble of seeing. I 
think her mind was finally made up. There 
is a time when nothing the man can do will 
alter the woman’s attitude towards him. The 
reasons may be slight or great, single or many, 
but the result is irrevocable; and it is well for 
the man if he feels his place in time and moves 
off. I think Katherine’s mind was made up, and 
whatever service Cathcart had rendered her 
would not, I am convinced, have made one far- 
thing difference in her conduct towards him. It 
was the point at which a woman’s gratitude is 
turned to stone, and a service is not an act of 
grace but an insult. 

Cathcart volunteered his own explanation: 

I saw you drive off,” said he, “ and then I 

got my horse and galloped a little way as escort, 
14 


204 


A LADY’S HONOR 


until I met some friends who pressed me to see 
them on their way. This I did, and in return- 
ing came again upon your coach. At first I 
thought I would pass you, thinking you might 
not be glad to have me about you both. It was 
when I had passed you some quarter mile that 
I remembered this could not be your way home, 
so I turned and shouted for your man to stop, 
which he would not do. The rest is familiar to 
you.” 

I suppose,” said I, “ that we should be 
much beholden to you for this service.” There 
was a queer ring about the story which did not 
appeal to me; and I think this was felt by us 
both. 

“ There is no doubt but that you should be 
grateful,” said he with a smile. 

Still Katherine would make no remark. 
Cathcart smiled towards her and looked puz- 
zled. We had not yet alighted from the coach, 
for Cathcart stood on the step with his hand on 
the handle of the door. Of a sudden he was 
thrust forward into the coach and the door 
slammed behind him. At the same time the 
vehicle again Parted off along the road. 

‘‘ Hallo,” cries Cathcart; “ I wonder what 
your driver is about? ” 


A STRANGE ROAD 


205 

It is you who must answer for that,” I 
shouted. 

“I?” he queried innocently. 

“ The drivers are your friends,” said I, 
'' there is no doubt of it, and,” I added, picking 
my sword from the seat, “ you -will have to pay 
their score.” 

He did not move as he sat on the seat op- 
posite to us. “ Now,” he asked, turning to 
Katherine, “ did you ever hear so unreasonable 
a fellow? I rescue him from catastrophe, and 
then because, on a misfortune, I am thrown in 
myself, he wishes to make holes in my heart.” 

Katherine merely stared at him as though 
he were an unclean animal. 

“ On my credit, Adam,” he continued, you 
have an ingenious mind. Nevertheless, I sug- 
gest there might be easier employment than in 
finding new sins for my reckoning. It is,” he 
added, “ hardly the occupation for a soldier.” 

Here I thought it time to make a high bar- 
gain. 

Cathcart,” said I, “ this kind of talk is idle- 
ness. There was a time when it would have 
been listened to and believed; but that time is 
quite gone by.” I pointed my sword at his 
breast. You have got to stop this coach in 


206 


A LADY’S HONOR 


five minutes. Come now,” I proceeded, “ you 
know I am in earnest,” and I pricked his skin 
with the point. He did not stir. 

“ A foot,” said he, “ will be sufficient.” He 
glanced at Katherine; she made no sign. 
‘‘ But,” he added suddenly, “ I will do anything 
you please ” — I fancy here I pricked him again 
— “ as I am unwilling just now to cross the 
Styx.” 

“ Shout, then, for the coach to stop,” I said. 

He shouted many times without notice be- 
ing taken, and then, as I directed him, he thrust 
his head from the broken window. He withdrew 
it immediately, as I had done, with a great weal 
across his cheek. I was pleased to see he was 
worse off than myself, for the blood ran freely 
as in his pain he fell back into the corner of the 
coach. Of his mishap he made the most, think- 
ing doubtless that Katherine’s tenderness might 
be touched; but she made no movement, not 
even in expression. 

Again I pricked Cathcart a trifle deeper with 
my sword-point. 

“ You shall pay for this dearly,” he cried and 
moved to the window. ‘‘ Merriman, Foster, La 
Torre,” he shouted, “stop this accursed coach; 
I am being murdered.” 


A STRANGE ROAD 


207 


The coach shook and drew up, and the door 
was thrown open. I saw, as I thought, my 
chance, and I sprung down the steps; but I fell 
into the arms of two men, each as strong as my- 
self. They closed on me, each screwing an arm 
cleverly, so that I was helpless. A third man 
now vaulted off the box seat, and bound me 
firmly with two red silk kerchiefs. Then they 
threw me back into the coach like a sack of 
salt. 

Cathcart was holding Katherine by the 
wrist. 

Shall We bind the lady? ’’ asked one of the 

men. 

“No,” rejoined Cathcart; “she will give 
her word of honor not to resist the authori- 
ties.” 

Katherine, however, made no sign that she 
heard them, and after a few moments he turned 
to them and said, “ Well, well, I will stay inside 
and mind the lady, and we will get on.” So the 
men climbed back to the box, the door was 
locked, and we three were left as before, only 
that I was lying bunched up on the floor. 

The coach proceeded on its way. 

“ Now,” said Cathcart, “ that we are all 
comfortably seated” — here he kicked me sav- 


208 


A LADY’S HONOR 


agely on the head — “ I think I may be permitted 
what is called a personal explanation. No, 
lady,” he said to Katherine, “ do not struggle; I 
have you by the wrist. Well, then,” he con- 
tinued, ” all I am contemplating is on your be- 
half, which is, as my guests, you pay me a visit — 
long or short — as you desire. You will be 
treated with favor and courtesy, and I trust you 
will be the better for the change.” 

All this was Arabic to me, but I followed 
Katherine’s lead and said nothing. 

He continued: “It’s not a long story, and 
it’s soon told. I am, as you know, generally a 
most unlucky person. Yet once in my time, as 
I have thought, my wheel would turn. Well, 
that time has come. A few nights since I played 
with the Count de la Torre at faro. We played 
for his fortune: I won that. We played for his 
coat, his ruffles, and his shoes: I won them. We 
played for his lands, his servants, and his villa: 
I won them. We played for his honor and 
obedience — everything or quits — and, by the 
saints’ help, I won them also. He is even now 
on the box, driving your horses. Therefore I 
am inviting you both to stay at my new place, 
and I hope your visit may be pleasant and pro- 
longed.” 


A STRANGE ROAD 


209 


“ The Count,” said I, “ is a nobleman and 
the bearer of an honorable name; he would never 
permit this outrage.” 

“ You forget,” replied Cathcart, “ the last 
clause of the wager — honor and obedience.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 

The coach stopped at last. “ We get out 
here,” says Cathcart cheerily; “but my cousin 
neither spoke nor moved. As' for myself, the 
two men came down from the box, the door was 
thrown open, and I was plucked out as a fowl 
is from a hutch. Then the third man joined 
them, and they all stood by the door, not know- 
ing quite what to make of Katherine. “ Come 
now,” says Cathcart, turning to the lady by his 
side, “ the gentlemen are waiting.” Still no 
sign from the lady. “ I should be sorry to in- 
sist,” says he; “but you know my maxim is — 
gentle but firm.” He laid his hand on her arm. 
She shook herself free with a shudder as if he 
were a tainted creature. (An English lady is, I 
think, accomplished in this expression beyond 
any other gentlewoman.) Then with a gesture 
which showed clearly that she would die cheer- 
fully rather than again be defamed by his touch, 
she followed him from the coach. 


210 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 21 1 


The three men were already gathered in the 
road. Two of them were clearly servants, but 
the third was a sallow-complexioned man with a 
listless air, whom, I made no doubt, was the 
Count de la Torre. He looked like a man who 
spoke seldom, whom all things bored, except 
very few, and upon whom the world, the flesh, 
and the future palled alike. I should say he pos- 
sessed patience without contentment, courage 
without elation, and honor without satisfaction. 

He stood without his hat as the lady alighted 
from the coach. 

The Count de la Torre is presented to you, 
madam,” says Cathcart to Katherine, but she 
only stared through him as she had through 
Cathcart. The Count blushed and smothered 
the cut in a low bow. 

We all turned and made towards what I saw 
to be a narrow winding river, and now in the 
wide daylight I had a fine view of the Villa of 
Torre. 

It was built on an island in the center of the 
stream, and was shaped, as near as possible, in 
the form of a square. It was a queer kind of 
villa, built, as I should suppose, in mere caprice 
and without any plan. There was no bridge, 
and the only means of approach was by boat. 


212 


A LADY’S HONOR 


The walls were about thirty feet in height, 
and were built of grey stone. On the fourth 
side, which we faced, about ten feet high from 
the river’s edge, with steps leading to the water, 
was a door large enough to admit but one per- 
son at a time. It was not more than thirty feet 
either side from the shore, so that a good plunge 
would easily take a man across. The only win- 
dows were quite close to the top of the walls, 
and except for its whimsical name the place bore 
no resemblance to any English dwelling. I do 
not know if the Count had built the villa for a 
siege, but it was admirably fitted for that end. 

There were two boats in waiting, and we 
crossed in the early morning. With four grown 
men for my adversaries, it was clearly useless 
for me to attempt resistance. Moreover, al- 
though I seemed of little use to Katherine alive, 
I should assuredly, other considerations apart, 
be of less assistance to her dead. 

Cathcart took my cousin in the first boat 
with the Count, and I followed with the two 
servants. In a few strokes we were at the bot- 
tom of the steps, and we all ascended to the 
door, which the Count opened with a spring. 
He seemed utterly bored by the whole proceed- 
ing, which he went through like a man in a play. 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 213 


He held the door open until we all passed in, 
and then it closed behind him with a snap. We 
were all assembled in the hall. 

“ Count de la Torre,” said I, I wish to ask 
you, as a nobleman and a gentleman known to 
the army, whether you are willing to be accred- 
ited with this outrage. An English lady is ab- 
ducted and an English soldier is kidnapped.; and 
there will be a great reckoning to be paid. It 
is a crime first against the law, which perhaps 
you do not fear; but it is an act, too, which, 
for one of your blood, is an ineradicable smirch 
and treason against his character and good 
name.” 

They both heard me through — the servants 
standing back. 

“ Sir,” said the Count, what you have said 
is apparent and true. But it is not all." It 
would for me be an act of much happiness to 
kill M. Cathcart; but it cannot be — at present. 
I have given my word to him — that is enough.” 

Whilst we were standing thus by the hall 
door, I had time to consider the plan of the 
villa. There were but two floors — the ground 
and the upper — and they were connected with 
each other by a narrow stairway, sufficient, like 
the door, to admit of only one person passing at 


214 


A LADY’S HONOR 


a time. At the head was a landing, and at either 
side corridors with balustrades, looking out into 
the hall. 

“ You are pleased with the place? ” inquired 
Cathcart, turning to me. “ Therefore I will ex- 
plain the arrangements. My own apartments 
are here, on the right; the Count’s are here on 
the left. The rooms which our cousin is going 
to honor us by occupying are on the upper floor, 
as also are your own apartments. Thus are the 
proprieties observed. I hope,” he added mock- 
ingly, “ that all is clear and pleasant to you.” 

We passed the day without adventure, and 
when the evening^was advanced we all sat down 
to supper. 

During this meal I was racking my brains 
for some means of rescue or escape. The supper 
was a quiet affair. Katherine would touch noth- 
ing, as if to break bread in such a place would 
soil her lips. For my own part, I saw no good 
in going hungry, and I ate heartily, and I no- 
ticed that Cathcart drank freely. I was not 
allowed any conversation with my cousin, as we 
were placed at either side of a long table, with 
the Count and Cathcart sitting at each side. 
The two men waited, keeping all the while a 
watchful eye on myself. 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 215 


Immediately after supper — for which was 
provided a large trout and two chickens — Cath- 
cart rose. “ I think,” said he, “ that the first 
law of hospitality is to consider the comfort of 
one’s guests. It will therefore indicate no desire 
to be rid of their company if I suggest to them 
that they should now retire for the night.” He 
concluded: “ We are all of us, I am sure, tired, 
and in particular the lady.” 

During supper he had seemed restless, as if 
some great event were on the eve of happening, 
and ill at his ease, which was a singular condi- 
tion for Cathcart. 

Perhaps,” he said, glancing at Katherine, 
“ you will allow me to show you your apart- 
ments? As I have been here before, you must 
be content to believe that I know my way.” 

Nothing, however, would tempt the set look 
from her face, which, I think, impressed him 
more than any indignation. 

'' Of course,” he added, you may bring 
your delightful cousin to light you to bed.” 

The stairway, like the door, as I have said, 
admitted only of one person passing at a time. 
It had been dark some time, and lamps had been 
brought; and one of these Cathcart caught from 
its sconce in the wall. (I remembered how I had 


2I6 


A LADY’S HONOR 


seen him catch the torch from its sconce in the 
cellar.) 

“ Now, if you please,” said he, “ I will lead 
the way.” 

A procession was formed up the stairway: 
first Cathcart, then Katherine, then the Count, 
fourthly myself, and lastly the two serving-men. 
So we came to the landing and turned to the 
right. He threw open the door of a spacious 
bed-chamber, lighted by soft lamps, and hung 
with rich hangings and pictures; in the center 
was a bed with a canopy and curtains of crimson. 
There was one broad window on the left of the 
bed, and opposite to us, as we stood at the door, 
was a great oaken cabinet. 

“ Madam,” says Cathcart, “ with compli- 
ments and respects, I present you to your bed- 
chamber.” 

We were grouped at the door, and Katherine 
swept past him and swung the door in his face. 
Cathcart smiled to himself, and we all descended 
to the hall. 

'' I think,” suggested Cathcart with a yawn, 
that we had all best fall to our sleep.” 

'T had as lief sleep as wake,” said the Count, 
“ and as lief wake as sleep — so to me it is no 
matter.” 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 217 


Well, they marched me off to my bed-cham- 
ber, and having locked the door, which was a 
heavy one, on the outside, left me to my own 
reflections. It was a long narrow room, with 
one small window looking on to the back of the 
house. There was a camp bedst-ead in one cor- 
ner, and in the other a table, on which had been 
set a candle, which had about half an inch of its 
wick to run. If, then, I was to get to bed by its 
light, there was a clear call for hurry. 

I was very tired; but to get quickly to bed 
was the last act I intended. Cathcart, I sus- 
pected, must have some scheme in his head; as 
he had surely not taken the trouble to bring us 
all this distance in order that we might sleep 
quiet in our beds. 

As I have said, there was only one window 
to my room, and that, as I could see, looked 
sheer out on to a thirty-feet drop. There was 
no fireplace and a heavy locked door. There 
was no glass in the window, only a cross-bar set 
into the stone, and the cold air came rawly into 
the chamber. I leant out as far as I was able, 
and saw a second window on my left, which I 
took to be the window on the landing. Then 
a plan came into my head, by which I hoped 
to take the bull by the horns like the man in 


2x8 


A LADY’S HONOR 


the proverb. I tore my coat into several slips, 
which I knotted together, so that it made a 
rope several feet long. One end of this I 
knotted securely to the bar. Then I squeezed 
myself through the opening between the bar and 
the stonework, and fastened the loose end of 
the rope to my wrist. I waited a few moments 
for breath, and then I jumped clean forward 
through the air, and caught the bar of the land- 
ing window. I thought at first from the strain 
on my wrist that I must drop, when I must 
surely break my limbs on the bed of the shallow 
river; but with a great effort, I brought my 
other hand up to the bar, and lurched myself 
forward to the landing sill; and with little breath 
in my body or skin on my fingers, found my- 
self on the landing leading down into the hall. 

I shook off my boots, and started to creep 
down the stairs in my stockings, my heart be- 
tween my teeth, as the saying goes. I had no 
plan in my mind, except that my motive must 
be to keep close to Cathcart when, if there was 
to be any action, I should be in the front of it. 
It was deadly dark, but by leaning over the bal- 
ustrade I could see Cathcart by the light of a 
single candle sitting at one of the tables. He 
was eating grapes and smiling to himself — like a 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 219 


miser in his counting-house; and now and again, 
he would take a sip of his wine. The stairway 
was in utter darkness, so that he could never 
have seen me thereon; and he never looked up. 
I only hoped I might strike no noise, which 
might show my hand and spoil everything. 
What demon is it that makes our stairways 
creak and screech by night? — a thing in the day- 
light they surely never do. He started up: I 
stopped dead still. 

But he only lurched to his feet and shook 
himself, and whistling two dogs which were 
sleeping at his feet, called: 

“Here, Gilly; here. Dandy!” and loading 
his hands with meat and pasty tossed the food 
into a closet and closed the door. Then he un- 
buckled his sword and unhitched his dagger, I 
standing the while stiff on the stairs. Lastly he 
walked across to his door on the right, which 
he flung open and disappeared into his apart- 
ment. 

I slipped down the stairs and through the 
shadows of the hall, and, crossing, was soon able 
to see into Cathcart’s room. There through the 
half-open door I could observe him standing 
fully dressed before the front of a cabinet. He 

was singing softly to himself: 

15 


220 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Beauty sat bathing by a spring, 

Where fairest shades did hide her ; 

The winds blew calm, the birds did sing. 

The cool stream ran beside her. 

My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 
To see what was forbidden ; 

My sweetest memories cried. Try! 

And dear desire was ridden. 

The song ceased. I saw him touch a spring 
— a small brown nut just above his head — and 
the cabinet doors flew open. An instant later he 
had disappeared, and the doors closed behind 
him. 

For a minute perhaps I waited; then I ran 
across the room to the cabinet, and touched the 
spring as I had seen him do before me. The 
doors flew open, but inside I could distinguish 
nothing but a dark space, with, at each side, a 
brace of wire ropes. For a moment I waited 
with the ropes in my hands, and then I began 
to draw them in towards me. As I did so some- 
thing seemed, from th€ feel, to be coming back 
to me from above, though noiselessly. Gradu- 
ally the heaviness 'on my hands increased, and 
then what appeared to be a large box or cage 
descended to my feet. A little intelligence told 
me that this must be a form of communication 
to the upper floor of the villa; and then sud- 
denly I remembered that my cousin Katherine’s 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 221 


room was immediately above this one. I 
stepped into the cage and began to draw again 
at the ropes, and as I did so I began to ascend, 
and I continued to draw until suddenly, but 
without any noise, the cage came to a stop. 

For a moment everything seemed dark 
around me, and then I saw a slit of light, like the 
cut of a sword, immediately in my front; and 
through this I could see into my cousin’s cham- 
ber. 

The room was full of starlight, which poured 
in through the one great window and transfig- 
ured everything with a wonderful vividness. 
There was nothing garish about the brightness; 
it was soft and subdued and fairy-like, and was 
an incongruous setting to the black mischief in 
one man’s heart. 

Cathcart was seated on the window-sill 
watching my cousin with an eager interest quite 
unlike his usual nonchalance. She was asleep; 
one white arm rested on the crimson counter- 
pane, the other was a frame for her head. Her 
hair, which she had arranged in two plaits, was 
lying over her shoulders. Her closed eyelids lay 
their lashes on her cheeks, and her lips were 
open as if she were whispering in her sleep. 

Her face was sweet and clear of all trouble. 


222 


A LADY’S HONOR 


Her bosom rose and fell in deep and regular 
movement. I would have given the w^orld to 
have kissed her. 

She stirred ever so slightly in her dreams, 
and Cathcart rose to his feet. There were the 
little sounds in the air which always come with 
the night. 

Cathcart moved slowly across the room. I 
forced the cabinet doors a full inch, so that if 
by chance he had glanced across the room he 
must have seen the open doors. But he had 
other interests, and, as I have said, it was a large 
apartment, so that we must have been some 
twelve feet apart. He stood thus for some time 
with his hands clasped behind him, gazing as a 
man might gaze at a landscape, and in a manner 
which suggested the epicure. He stood quite 
straight and still in the brilliant moonlight, and 
but for the light in his eyes he might have 
seemed inanimate. Then again he made two 
or three easy steps forward, and seated himself 
on the edge of the bed. I forced the doors 
another inch. A cloud veiled the moon, and 
the room was for some part full of creeping 
shadows. 

I saw Cathcart stoop over the bed and slide 
his finger into the lady’s hand, so that she held 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 223 


it, as a baby does the finger of its nurse. I tried 
to further force the doors. 

Then, of a sudden, Katherine gave a little 
cry, snatched her finger free, and sat up with 
dusky flaming cheeks and faced him. Bayonets 
would have been easier to meet than the blazing 
contempt in her eyes. The moon broke through 
the clouds and the room again was bright. 
Again I strove to force the doors. 

Gathcart laughed easily. '' I hope you are 
liking your sleep,” he said. 

She simply stared at him with wide, wonder- 
ing eyes. 

“ I can’t tell you how pretty you look,” said 
he. “You are a woman so triumphantly — and 
yet such a child.” 

No answer. He went on: 

“ You wonder at me — if indeed you think of 
me at all — you wonder that I am so wicked. 
Well, you know the risk I run in this present 
act, but is it for any reason than your single 
self? A man may be as wicked as sin, but he 
must be judged by his reasons. Think of me 
as hopeless, as bad as you will; but as you your- 
self are the cause to make me so, why, what 
then?” 

All this appeared as running water to Kath- 


224 


A LADY’S HONOR 


erine; she showed neither interest nor concern. 
Silence in a woman is perhaps the most difficult 
condition to overcome, and it could not have 
been without its effect on Cathcart. He con- 
tinued: 1 

“ I am indeed a most patient person, but also 
there is a proverb about a worm. It is pleas- 
ant to be trod upon by such sweet toes, but also 
a little petting is not out of place — is even dis- 
creet. I recommend this reflection to your 
notice.” 

My shoulder was hard at the doors. 

“ My own idea,” he continued, “ is that you 
shall stay with me — as long as you please. And 
then,” he added, “ you and Adam may be hap- 
pily married.” The lady answered nothing. 

He rose to his feet again and walked to the 
window, and then returned and leant over the 
bed. There was Katherine — a white half figure 
framed against the crimson pillows of her bed; 
and there was Cathcart by her bedside, in a suit 
of black and silver, which I fancy he had won 
from the Count; and here was I, not four yards 
away, watching that no harm might come. 
Thank Heaven, the doors were giving. 

“ I shall not like you half so well,” he said 
with a little smile and a sigh, “ if you are so 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 225 

troublesome. You women fear so much from 
the unseen. If we hold hands, no one will ever 
know. There is not another waking soul in this 
world except just you and I. Why, we might be 
in the moon — you the maid and I the man. Is 
it not so?'’ he asked. 

Still she only stared at him with frozen un- 
concern, but I could mark the rise and fall of her 
bosom under the crimson counterpane, which 
she had now drawn up to her chin. 

“ Well, then,” he said with a sudden change 
of voice, which, although in volume not louder 
than before, was quite altered in its tone, '' then 
things must be as they will. I have offered you 
civilities and you will have none of them; I have 
been at my utmost to appear gentle to you, but 
it is not to be. I cannot help you any more; 
and,” he added slowly, “ there is no one else.” 

This I felt to be, as they say in the theater, 
my cue. His words fell pat to the occasion. 
And I could bear no more. I struck one door 
of the cabinet with my fist, and kicked open the 
other with my foot. My appearance must have 
had some of the dramatic suddenness of a scene 
in a play, but I was in a frenzy of anger; and in 
the affairs of life one does not stop to reckon for 
effect. Yet something of this idea flashed 


226 


A LADY’S HONOR 


through me as I shouted: “ No one else, you say 
— you have still one to reckon with.” 

Then for some moments I was too full of 
anger to speak further, and my hands were all 
a-twitch to be at him. Cathcart found his 
tongue. “ Oh, what an accursed fool I was to 
spare you last night!” he cried. “This comes 
of being generous. At erery turn of the road it 
is you — you great hulking, senseless dolt — who 
stands in my way. This is the price of my char- 
ity. We can’t fight with fists; let us have it 
out with swords — once and for all.” 

“ I do not care how I kill you,” I said, hold- 
ing myself cool, “ but it is a gentleman’s death 
the sword,” and I ran at him, thinking to throw 
him through the window, but he dived quickly 
past me and ran across the room to the cabinet. 
In another moment, the doors, which I had left 
open, fell to in my face, and Cathcart had dis- 
appeared. I touched the spring, but Cathcart 
and the cage had descended from sight. I ran 
to the bedside. 

“ Oh Kate, Kate,” I cried, “ what can I do 
for you? ” but she only turned her face to the 
pillows and sobbed as if her heart would break. 

“ For pity’s sake,” I cried, “ do not do that.” 

But there were no more words between us, 


THE VILLA OF TORRE 227 


for there was a sudden noise in the cupboard, 
and then with a kind of snarl Cathcart stood 
before us, a sword in his right, a dagger in his 
left hand. Katherine gave a faint little scream 
from the bed as Cathcart made towards me, un- 
armed as I was. “ This is really the end of the 
chapter, my dear Adam,” said he. 

Oh no, no,” my cousin cried; “ do not mur- 
der him. I will give you anything you ask if you 
will spare him. Do not think of it,” she im- 
plored. 

“ No, lady,” said he; “ my charity' times are 
past. I will have everything or nothing. You 
are a couple of conspirators, and I’ll not trust 
you. As it is, I will have both my revenge and 
my pleasure too,” and he pricked me in the 
shoulder with his sword. 

As he was speaking several wild schemes 
flashed through me. I might rush a.t his ankles 
and try to draw hiiH over, but assuredly he 
would stab me with his dagger as we fell. 
Again, 1 might jump the window, which was 
open, and then I must fall in the shallow river, 
and leave Katherine there with that villain. I 
might plead with him; but I would eat my 
tongue before I would do that. 

Come, I cannot stay to hear your prayers,” 


228 


A LADY’S HONOR 


he called, and shortened his sword-arm. I could 
see his smile and lighted eyes; and then Kath- 
erine suddenly sprang from the bed and threw 
her arms upon his neck, and at that he slipped 
and his sword-point ran into the floor. At the 
same juncture there was a rasping sound at the 
chamber door, and in another moment the 
Count de la Torre, a lamp in one hand and a 
pistol in the other, appeared at the entrance. 


CHAPTER XV 

A TURN FOR THE WORSE 

I CANNOT decide which of us was the most 
surprised at the appearance of the Count de la 
Torre, but I fancy it was Cathcart. Yet what- 
ever his thoughts, he swallowed them clean and 
said cheerfully: “ Phil, you must help me put 
this beggar back to bed.” 

“ Yes,” said the Count in a voice which had 
character in it neither for pleasure nor anger. 

“ A guest in a gentleman’s house,” Cathcart 
continued, “ has no business to be wandering in 
a lady’s bed-chamber at midnight, even though 
that lady be his cousin. It is farm-yard man- 
ners,” he concluded. 

“ Yes,” said the Count again, and looking 
towards the door. 

Katherine was standing in the moonlight, a 
white defined figure, with her hair in crumpled 
disarray. 

Then the Count took Cathcart by the arm. 

229 


230 


A LADY’S HONOR 


We will continue this colloquy,” he said, ‘‘ out- 
side,” and he led him through the door. Cath- 
cart still held his sword and dagger, and the 
Count his pistol and lamp, whilst I followed un- 
armed in the rear. I made no remark to Kath- 
erine, but shut the door of her room behind me, 
and we all descended into the great hall. The 
Count placed the lamp on the table. 

“ I should like to know,” said Cathcart, 
“ why I am following you gentlemen about the 
house. I am fond of exefcise, but at present it 
appears — if I may say so — rather out of season.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said the Count again, in wearying 
iteration. 

Then Cathcart turned to me — although he 
had always the fall of his eye for the Count. 

“ If you will allow me,” he said, lifting the 
point of his' sword, “ I will see you to your 
room.” 

Yes,” said the Count again — “ but later. 
Now let us sit and converse,” and taking his 
lamp with him, he moved to the head of the 
table, and there he took his seat, with his pistol 
before him. It was an odd assemblage for the 
middle of the night. 

We will,” said the Count, speaking very 
slowly, '' admit M. Crighton into our con- 


A TURN FOR THE WORSE 231 

fidence/’ and then, without any more ado, he 
leant over towards us (Cathcart and I were sit- 
ting on either side of him), and talking in a 
quiet, confidential voice said: 

“ As you know, M. Crighton, it is the cus- 
tom of officers in the Armies to play the game 
of cards together; it is the sport of soldiers, com- 
rades — honorable — delightful. So be it then. 
On occasions it has been my fortune to stake 
against our friend here many things — my 
means, my house, my honor, my obedience; and 
it was his fortune — he will tell you so — to win 
these things from me at play.” 

We listened without comment. He went 
on: 

‘‘ In the philosophy of sport a gentleman 
should not remark such trivialities. You will 
pardon me, therefore,” he added, turning to 
Cathcart, “ if for the sake of conversation 
I make these references.” Cathcart made 
no answer except that suggested by a sickly 
nod. 

The Count continued: ‘‘The loss of my 
lands — puh — was not much, but the loss of my 
honor — I may say so without exaggeration — 
was of consequence; but even so, if such matters 
fall by fair play, what is it then? Fortune is 


232 


A LADY’S HONOR 


what you will; we cannot alter it; it is the child 
only who would complain/*’ He stayed for a few 
moments, an expression of gentle reflection on 
his sallow face. 

“ These thoughts,” Cathcart interpolated, 
“ are interesting and most charming, but, my 
dear Count, ought we to keep you from your 
bed merely to give us pleasure? ” 

But the Count took no heed of this inter- 
ruption. He merely continued in the same soft, 
slow voice: “ I know — I have before this been 
informed — that not only fortune deceives men, 
but there are other devices in this old world. I 
am a temperate man. I have no passions; but 
what shall I say when to-night I find this drop 
from M. Cathcart’s coat? ” He brought his fist 
down on the cloth, and then lifted it gently as a 
conjurer does a cup. A small object dropped on 
the table with a dull, heavy fall. It was a loaded 
dice. 

“ Phil,” said Cathcart immediately, with a 
daring I could not but admire, “ you are a fool! 
I had as lief find a dagger under your chair and 
cry you a murderer. Your humor in the present 
instance is in the very worst taste. Also you 
might choose another occasion for your wit than 
the middle of the night.” 


A TURN FOR THE WORSE 233 

The Count heard him through with a kind 
of diffidential interest. 

“ Wine,” he answered, quite inconsequently, 
as I thought, is put into our mouths to steal 
away our brains. That,” he said, turning to 
me, “ is what your English poet says. Well, be 
it so; and on the night of my misfortunes, if 
I should call them such, there was more wine 
about than is good for men’s brains. We took 
the daughter of the vine to spouse, do you not 
say? It was everywhere; even on the playing- 
table it lay in pools. I think our friend M. 
Cathcart snuffed a candle with a bottle of 
burgundy. Into these pools fell our cards and 
dice. Is it therefore a coincidence merely, 
as you would say, that this dice is stained 
with wine? ” 

This,” cries Cathcart, with an indignation 
of a sort one felt to be counterfeit, “ this is the 
logic of a waiting- woman. You had best come 
to the point, and we will get to our beds — or 
our business.” 

Cathcart was sitting at the table with his 
sword and his dagger lying out in front of him. 
The point of the sword lay towards me, and the 
Count, with a sudden dexterity, seized the tip 
in his fingers and switched the weapon upward. 


234 


A LADY’S HONOR 


so that the hilt fell into my hand. I held it, and 
the point now lay towards Cathcart. At the 
same time the Count drew his own weapon from 
its scabbard. 

“ There has now been sufficient talking,” he 
cried in a soft, strong voice. Then he disarmed 
Cathcart of his dagger, and addressed him in 
the following terms: 

“ M. Crighton and myself are considering 
your case, and it is one which presents unusual 
features. Neither of us by the custom of our 
Armies — which, for your sake, is to be regretted 
— is permitted to fight with a criminal. It re- 
mains, therefore, for us to reserve youriprecious 
body in safe keeping until it may be handed 
over to the authorities. Here, again, there is a 
difficulty. The only room in this house in which 
you can properly pass the night is that in which 
my dogs are quartered. In such intimacy I 
shudder for their souls, as you may well do for 
your body.” 

He called out his dogs from the closet, and 
seemed a good deal surprised that, although 
they ran to him first, yet, as Cathcart whistled, 
they came to him and showed evident friend- 
liness. 

To the proposition that he must spend the 


A TURN FOR THE WORSE 235 

night in the closet Cathcart clearly saw the use- 
lessness of objection. Here were two armed 
men, and he himself unarmed; so he strode in 
with the dogs with what dignity he could mus- 
ter, and the door was bolted after him. As in 
the closet there was neither window nor chim- 
ney, and what ventilation there was entered 
through a small hole in the roof, we could leave 
him with safety. And the Count and myself 
went to our different beds with a good-night ” 
and a warm hand-shake. Only I stayed for a 
moment at my cousin's door, and tapped and 
cried: Everything is all right now, Kate. 

The animal is secured.” 

Well, in the morning breakfast was served in 
the hall, and we came down to our seats at the 
table — Katherine, the Count, and myself — as if 
nothing unusual had happened during the night. 
Katherine was bright and fresh, and the Count 
treated her with a perfect courtesy and atten- 
tion. As before, the two men waited. When we 
were seated, the Count excused himself, and 
walked across to the closet where Cathcart was 
confined. 

''I am calling the animals,” he said, and 
threw open the door. Cathcart strode into the 

hall, with the two dogs licking at his heels. He 
16 


236 


A LADY’S HONOR 


looked white and ill, as if the night’s reflections 
had not been a comfort to him. 

The Count pointed to a seat at a second 
small table, in a place he was under the eyes of 
all of us. At once Cathcart fell to talking. 

It is clear to me,” he said, “ that as my 
guests, I should ask after your night’s rest. I 
do so. As for myself, I confess I have not slept 
a step of the way. I hope no one has been dis- 
turbed by any noises in the night. Have you 
heard, my dear Count,” he continued, “ that this 
villa is haunted? ” 

The Count turned to my cousin. 

They do tell the most odd stories about 
your great Duke,” he said. They say that on 
the night before Blenheim, when the Prince 
Eugene came to his tent to confer on the plans 
for the morrow, there were two candles burning, 
and the Duke snuffed one candle, saying that 
one would be sufficient to talk by. Is it not 
queer, lady, that a man whose daily business is 
with life and death should care so greatly for 
money? Do you think, for example, that love 
and money have any sort of relationship? ” 

“ I used to think not,” said Katherine, but 
in late years I have inclined to believe other- 
wise. Money is assuredly useless without love. 


A TURN FOR THE WORSE 237 

but love, I am ashamed to admit, is nearly im- 
possible without money. Of course there are 
exceptions, but if a girl cared for two men 
equally — if such a thing were possible — one be- 
ing rich and the other poor — I should counsel 
the lady to take her skirts in her hand and marry 
the rich one.'' 

“ I think this is not romance," said the 
Count. 

“ There is no help for it," said she. “ I am 
not an old woman, but I am a lost one. Only 
of late have I learnt discomfort. W-h-0-0! — I 
have felt the touch of mud on my skin. It is 
unwholesome — horrible! In future I must be 
cared for. I must have figs and grapes, not 
thistles for my fare." 

The Count smiled in his sad way. Ease is 
very well where people are friends," he said, 
but not otherwise. One must not expect too 
much from it. If you stake your heart, you 
chance more than you can afford to lose." 

“ You forget," said Katherine, “ that all this 
is general, and in general things, hearts are not 
in the case." 

Yes, perhaps," said he; I forgot that." 

Talking of hearts," interposed Cathcart, 
“ although there are miles to be covered on both 


238 


A LADY’S HONOR 


sides, I have myself no choice. Personally, I 
am no supporter of the married state, so I’d as 
soon marry a Countess as a beggar-girl, al- 
though I agree with the lady that with the 
former one might be better off.” 

Even this slight perversion of Katherine’s 
meaning drew never a word from any of us. 
Although nothing had been said between the 
Count and myself, I felt there was an absolute 
agreement in our policy. We were to treat him 
all alike with an absolute indifference until the 
lady being in safe keeping we could determine 
which was to kill him. 

Immediately after breakfast we made our 
preparations for leaving the villa. As regards 
Cathcart, we had too great a scorn for him to 
concern ourselves to bind or guard him, and he 
amused himself, therefore, in teaching one of the 
dogs the habit of begging. 

We were very soon ready to start, as none of 
us had any baggage. The two serving-men 
were to stay behind; and the door was thrown 
open to allow us to make our way to the boats, 
which were waiting at the bottom of the steps. 
The Count, with a lift of his hand, signaled 
Cathcart to precede us, and he smilingly ran 
down the steps. For a moment he held the 


A TURN FOR THE WORSE 239 


painter of the boat, and then returned to the 
door to await, as we thought, our coming out. 
First Katherine, then myself, and finally the 
Count passed through the doorway. Then in 
a flash I saw Cathcart dart forward. There was 
the glitter of a dagger, and as I turned the 
Count tottered down the steps. Then imme- 
diately the door slammed to, and Cathcart dis- 
appeared. 


CHAPTER XVI 

THE TUNNEL 

Now it seemed my predicament was worse 
than ever, with a lady and a wounded man on 
my hands, and behind me an enemy (not to men- 
tion the two servants) in a house with firearms. 
But there was no time for regrets. I had to get 
the Count over the river. So immediately 
Katherine and myself between us carried him 
down the steps into the boat, and I sprang in at 
the sculls. Three strokes took me across the 
stream. As I leapt out and gave my hand to 
Katherine, a pistol shot rang out from an upper 
window. At first I thought that Katherine had 
been struck, for she gave a sharp little scream, 
and held both her hands tight to her face. Her 
only hurt, however, was the smoke, which had 
filled and smartened her eyes. I imagined that 
Cathcart concluded she was injured, for there 
was no more firing, and we were allowed with- 
out alarm to lift the Count out of the boat, and 
240 


THE TUNNEL 


241 


carry him to the shade of some trees. Here we 
found that although his wound was a painful 
one, and he had lost much blood, it was not se- 
rious, as only the flesh had been cut. Katherine 
bound his wound with great deftness, and we 
sat on the grass and held a conference together. 

“ It seems an awful thing to me,’’ said I, 
“ that we are all to return to Brussels and leave 
this miscreant here unsecured. We cannot get 
in through the door, that is certain: we cannot 
stay here and watch for him; and if we leave he 
will surely escape.” 

“ Is there no other way in? ” asked Kath- 
erine. 

“ There is one other way,” said the Count, 
“ but it is only known to me. I have thought 
about it, and I am afraid it is impossible to 
undertake with my shoulder as it is.” 

Surely I could make the attempt,” said 1. 

Listen,” said he, and yourself judge. 
There is an iron tunnel which proceeds from 
beneath the shore landing-steps through to the 
foundations of the villa. Through this runs the 
water, and it empties itself in the great bath in 
the basement. It is used to supply a constant 
run of fresh water, which is drawn off through 
smaller pipes. This tunnel is three feet in 


242 


A LADY’S HONOR 


diameter and about thirty feet long. I only sug- 
gest that a determined man might, by diving 
and drawing himself along by the notches of the 
pipe, get through into the bath, when the villa 
would be in his hands. But I fear the project 
is nearly impossible, although I think — but that 
I cannot move my arm — I might try.” 

What would become of my cousin? ” I 
asked, rather liking the idea. 

“ She might,” he answered, be taken to the 
hut of a charcoal-burner near by, whose wife 
maybe might have some thoughts of comfort in 
her mind.” 

“ Could we not collect the charcoal-burners 
and burst the door? ” I asked. 

“ Many would be shot from the windows,” 
he answered; “ and besides, think of the notori- 
ety for my poor villa! ” 

It is odd that your servants make no sign,” 
said I. 

“ Surely they are bought over by our friend, 
for he has money now besides his wonderful 
tongue,” he said. 

We set out and found a hut where Katherine 
was cared for, and the Count and myself strolled 
outside and discussed the plan. 

Directly it was dusk we were to make our 


THE TUNNEL 


243 


way together to the water’s edge, where I was 
to strip myself of my clothes, and make several 
experimental plunges to ascertain the position 
of the tunnel. Afterwards I was to say my pray- 
ers and make the attempt. Once inside, I knew 
where to find weapons, and I would contrive to 
admit the Count from the river. We trusted to 
our silence and our luck that no one would be 
watching from the windows. 

We made a simple meal with my cousin. 
She knew, of course, that the attempt was to be 
made, but asked few questions, except once she 
said simply: 

“ No doubt your being able to manage it, 
Adam?” 

“ No doubt at all,” I answered promptly. 

Well, as soon as the dusk fell, we shook 
hands with Katherine and made our way back 
to the river. I stripped by the trees, and, al- 
though it was July, the wind was not to be de- 
spised. We crept down to the water’s’ edge. 
I tried the water with my foot — it was quite 
warm. I slipped off the landing-steps, letting 
the water gradually creep up over me. Then 
I plunged to the bottom of the lake to locate 
the position of the tunnel. 

The dark river was fresh and delightful, and 


244 


A LADY’S HONOR 


provided a pure sensation of enjoyment. The 
swish of the water as I struck under for a few 
strokes, and the gurgling and bubbling above 
as I descended, was all a fine pleasure to me. 
Thus I swam along under water from the land- 
ing-steps over the whole outside of the tunnel. 
I tried to span the pipe with my arms, and found, 
as the Count had said, it was about three feet 
in diameter. Then, rather short of breath, I 
came to the surface and swam back to the land- 
ing-steps. 

'' Well? ” said the Count laconically. 

I drew myself up to the steps, and shook 
the water from my hair and eyes. 

'' It is perfect,” said I. 

“ I wish I could venture instead,” said the 
Count in a tone of regret, “ but I suppose it is 
no use trying. This dig of mine is bleeding 
again.” 

'' So,” said I, “ here’s for a last look,” and I 
made another plunge down to the mouth of the 
tunnel. I found that without any difficulty I 
could get my head and shoulders into the pipe. 
Then for a short way I let myself run into the 
tunnel with the current, using the joints for a 
purchase in my progress. I could feel that this 
would be slow work, and already — on this ex- 


THE TUNNEL 


245 


perimental journey — I felt the want of air, al- 
though I had made only ^ few yards. To have 
swum the distance merely under water would, of 
course, have been a very small afifair; but to 
take it hand on hand through a pipe in this man- 
ner, I felt to be a totally different business. To 
return, which I set about at once, I found to be 
even worse than going forward, as now the cur- 
rent was against me; but when I made the at- 
tempt I knew it must be a real one, so at last I 
managed to slip out of the tunnel and came 
again to the steps, and panted for my breath. 

“ It is not nearly so easy as it looked,” I 
told the Count. 

“ Think it is worth the trying? ” he asked 
dubiously; the risk may be too great for the 
result.” • 

'' Any way, I am not going to turn back,” 
said I. 

I lay for a few minutes on the steps pulling 
myself together for the real trial. I stood up at 
last, inflating my lungs to the utmost with the 
air I knew I should so sorely need, and then 
nerving myself again I made the plunge. I just 
heard the word “ Luck! ” from the Count as I 
took the water. 

This time I made at once to the entrance of 


246 


A LADY’S HONOR 


the tunnel, and shot in with all the impetus the 
current would allow me. I knew that the whole 
undertaking depended upon the speed in which 
I could get through the pipe before my breath 
failed m& and the inevitable ensued. I soon 
found that the joints of the tunnel were slippery 
with river-weed, and offered but an imperfect 
leverage. Moreover, they were encrusted with 
small stones which cut my fingers as my grasp 
reached them. I think that immediately my 
whole body entered the tunnel the sensation of 
suffocation came into me. The end seemed so 
far off. As painfully I made my way onward I 
grew to loathe the tunnel; the thought of it was 
so slimy and horrible. With my whole heart I 
regretted I had ever started. Fear came into 
me. To die thus, giipping like a toad in a well, 
seemed an awful death for a soldier. I do not 
know which sustained me the more — my love 
for Katherine or my hatred of Cathcart. 

The feeling of su^ocation now became in- 
tensified, and a whole hash of visions and ideas 
were drummed up before my eyes. Yet all the 
while my body was sliding forward through the 
water, and my fingers taking as best they might 
the joints in the tunnel. At one time I thought 
if only I could get back (for I am a coward at 


THE TUNNEL 


247 


heart) I would never leave my bed for the rest of 
my days; but I could not now have slid back 
against the current, however greatly I had 
wished to do so. I felt that to escape I would 
cheerfully have drowned in open water; but it 
seemed an utterly loathsome end to choke in a 
tunnel, and I knew I could not live much longer 
in such conditions as these. 

My ears were beating and buzzing, and my 
chest seemed to be bearing the burden of an 
intolerable weight. If by a chance, I thought, 
the tunnel were to burst, and I sent upward 
atop the river, that once more I could breathe 
clean fresh air, I am sure I would have accepted 
a bullet in exchange — and reckoned myself the 
winner on the bargain. 

I could not even calculate how far I had 
gone — the distance seemed immense. I knew 
that to remain conscious under water for five 
minutes is reckoned a great space of time. I 
opened my eyes, but this revealed nothing to 
me but an absolute darkness. I think if I could 
have seen a streak of light I should have felt 
relieved; but I saw only this total blackness. I 
felt at last I must open my mouth. The pres- 
sure on my chest and brain was terrible, and I 
knew that for the water to enter my lungs 


248 


A LADY’S HONOR 


through my mouth meant first unconsciousness 
and then death. Yet to lose my senses at least 
meant freedom from the pains and horror in 
which I was involved, and it seemed worth any 
price to attain to that. All this time I was slid- 
ing and pressing onward. 

Two faces passed for ever in front of me clear 
and plain — those of my cousin and Cathcart. 
The one with its quiet grace and beauty, and 
the other so full of malignant lights. I hated 
to think of them — even in imagination — as to- 
gether. I tried to shut from my mind any idea 
of Cathcart, but somehow his evil face would 
mock at me even through my thoughts of Kath- 
erine. 

Would I ever get to the end of the passage? 
Several times I caught my feet in the joints as 
I slid past, and the agony somewhat distracted 
my thoughts, and acted, strangely enough, as a 
kind of relief. Although the time I had spent 
in the tunnel so far could only have been a mat- 
ter of minutes, yet it was a period which could be 
calculated by no human rule. The weeds grew 
thicker as I advanced, until they began to coil 
round my limbs, and sensibly to impede my 
progress. The fish too, of which there seemed 
to be a great number in the pipe, constantly 


THE TUNNEL 


249 


whipped past me, and it was irritating beyond 
expression to feel the slimy scales passing over 
my skin. 

At last, when I felt I must either get my 
breath or perish, a new horror presented itself. 
As now I groped my way forward I began to 
feel that the tunnel was closing in about me, for 
it grazed my shoulders on either side, and I 
could not get the slightest kick at the water 
without scraping my knees. The passage of the 
tunnel was reduced, and this must have been 
due to the weeds which grew thicker and thicker 
as I advanced, and I was in horror to think of 
my fate if once I became entangled. 

Now the whole situation became a mist to 
me. I know that the pains at my head and 
chest became more intense, but I did not seem 
to care so much for that; nor did I seem to care 
whether or not I succeeded in reaching the end. 
My plight was so bad that I became indifferent. 
It was now as much as I could do to move my 
body at all through the pipe, and this I must 
have done half-unconsciously, for the pains 
which until now had beset me became stifled as a 
bright light is smothered in a fog. This I knew 
to be a bad sign, as it showed that my powers 
were failing; and yet sgmebQW I must pull my- 


250 


A LADY’S HONOR 


self together. The distance I had already made 
seemed to me immeasurable. I seemed to have 
been in the tunnel an incalculable time, and even 
so I must be near to the end. “ One push more, 
one push more,” I kept telling myself. The 
weeds had now fastened themselves round my 
arms and legs like live things,- and yet I could 
make no attempt to rid myself of their impedi- 
ment. All I could do was, in a half-conscious 
state, to grope with my fingers at the joints in 
the pipe, and lever myself forward as best I 
might. The weeds grew thicker and more cling- 
ing, my consciousness of the situation more re- 
mote, and my advance increasingly slow. 

Then, of a sudden, I seemed to head into a 
mass of river-weed, which covered my head and 
shoulders and swallowed me up. I had just 
left to me the dimmest reflection of sensibility 
which told me that the game was up; and then 
I could endure no more, and I opened my 
mouth. At the same time, too, I seemed to 
burst my wrappings of weed, and I slid forward 
into what seemed to me a great open space. I 
was falling to sleep, I thought, and the water 
was running into my throat; and then, in a rush 
of the current, I shot to the surface. I was 
through the pipe! I was just able to drag my- 


THE TUNNEL 


251 

self on to a marble step when I dropped forward 
on my face in a faint. 

How long I lay there I cannot tell. I know 
I came to my senses with the blood trickling 
from my ears and nose; but I was something of 
myself again, and I began to look around me. 
Certainly this was the bathing chamber the 
Count had told me of. In the centre was the 
pool, about twenty feet long by ten wide, 
with marble steps all round like an amphi- 
theater. My first occupation was to dry my- 
self on some towels I found about, for I was 
deadly cold. 

Anyhow, I had got back into the villa, and 
this thought gave me the liveliest satisfaction. 
I was, however, feeling horribly weak and sick; 
and besides, I had no clothes. All these things, 
nevertheless, were matters which time would 
arrange. The one cardinal fact was that I was 
back again in the villa; therefore I must make 
the most of it. But my first requirement was to 
cover myself. With little trouble I found in the 
dressing-room a number of garments, from 
which I made a selection, and thereby restored 
my body to some semblance of warmth. Then I 
stood for a little while gazing at the pool, which 

was continually at an eddy, caused by the run- 
17 


252 


A LADY’S HONOR 


ning water from the pipe. I shuddered to think 
of the time I had spent in that tunnel. 

The place was lit by an oil-lamp, which was 
slowly burning itself out; so now I felt was the 
time to bestir myself, although I was weak and 
sick, and in no condition to encounter armed 
men. Yet it was certain I must do something. 
I made my way up a stairway which, as I found, 
led to the great hall, to reach which, as the 
doors were none of them locked, I found no 
obstacle. Although the lamps therein were still 
lighted, and there were some scraps of supper 
on the tables, the hall was deserted. I crept 
silently in and lifted a sword and dagger from 
the walls, and strapped them about my waist. 
Then I looked into the Count’s bedroom, and 
there I saw the two serving-men. One was lying 
on the bed, and the other on the floor. The 
apartment was strewn with bottles and flagons, 
and to the nicest discriminator it was obvious 
that they were both drunk. From this quarter, 
therefore, I would at present suffer no disquie- 
tude. 

I returned to the hall, and at once I was 
brought up still, as if a boy had put his finger 
in a clock. There was the sound of a voice in 
Cathcart’s room on the other side of the hall. 


THE TUNNEL 


253 


I knew there could be no other person in the 
villa but — although of course the situation was 
impossible — I thought of Katherine. It was a 
low voice, and there seemed no answer to its 
questionings, if questionings they were. I crept 
across to the door, which by the part of an inch 
was open. I slipped the door slightly forward 
and looked in. If I saw Cathcart, my idea was, 
after a hasty glance, to rush in upon him and 
drive him out or force him to fight. Either 
way I meant to have done with him once and 
for all. In the excitement I think I forgot the 
agreement to admit the Count at once into his 
villa. And the sight I saw precluded, at least 
for the present, any thought of fighting. 

Now at the villa — for the Count was a de- 
vout Catholic — there was placed in every bed- 
chamber a small marble altar, with candles on 
either side, a footstool beneath, and a gold cru- 
cifix held atop. Here, then, before two lighted 
candles and the golden crucifix, kneeling on the 
footstool, was Cathcart. He was praying. 

“ I have sinned beyond redemption,” he was 
saying. “ I have no repentance and therefore 
no hope. I have done so many things I am not 
sorry for — so many ill deeds I cannot regret. 
There can be no pardon for me hereafter. Yet 


254 


A LADY’S HONOR 


I pray I may not bring more evil to this earth. 
If I could love her, then it would be so that all 
things were different. I will alter if only I may 
love her. I pray, have mercy. I have never 
loved any woman as I love her. I will not 
change. I will not change — if only I have an- 
other chance. There is no other way for me 
here, and hereafter there is no hope. I pray, 
have mercy.” 

I stood at the door before his kneeling fig- 
ure, and all my hatred and indignation — the 
growth of many occasions and of infinite provo- 
cation — seemed to melt out of me. I could not 
kill him now — murderer as he was, and although 
he had wronged me beyond expression. I tried 
to brace myself together; but with him on his 
knees before me, I had not the strength either 
in my arm or in my heart to wish him any end 
but salvation. He was everything that was bad, 
but he was praying, and I could not think of 
him as before. I stood thus just inside the room, 
and perhaps I stirred, for he looked round and 
saw me with my back to the wall and my sword 
in my hand. 

He lurched to his feet, and his face was ashen 
aud drawn, and he looked at me with a curious 
intentness as if I were a ghost. Neither of us 


THE TUNNEL 


255 


spoke. The startled look in his face gave way 
to one of calculation. His eyelids moved 
quickly as if he were ticking off the pros and 
cons of the case and reckoning himself to a con- 
clusion. At last he turned to me. Good even- 
ing, Adam,” he said lightly. 

“ Good evening,” I answered. 

“ I must apologize for keeping you waiting,” 
he continued, “ and also for finding me in a 
position so unusual. I am ashamed of my weak- 
ness,” he added. 

“ I would rather call it strength,” I an- 
swered. 

“Do you really think that?” he said — and 
all the while his eyelids were ticking away — 
“ Why not ask your friends to enter? ” he asked. 
I shrugged my shoulders and took my seat on 
the bed, with my naked sword on my knees. 

“ O Adam,” he said, “ I am in the ditch now 
in good earnest. I have been a thorough bad 
one, but I am paying a high price for it now — 
paying out slowly with small coin — one by one. 
She did care for me, I know that ” (his voice 
trembled). “Think what I have lost! There 
was never a great hope for me in this world after 
what my career has been, but with her was the 
single only chance. Think of it. Would you 


256 


A LADY’S HONOR 


say something for me, Adam? he continued. 
“ You would save me if you could, and I would 
make amends. I am only young, and much 
can be done. Would you think about it? It is 
our duty to do what we can for each other, and 
you could do a great deal for me if you would. 
There is nothing so bad but that it can be al- 
tered. I have prayed and prayed, but it doesn’t 
seem of any use. I want her to love me, and 
then there would be hope. Will you do what 
you can? ” 

It would have been less than human not 
to have felt sorry for him, to see him so craven 
and undone. All his grace and spirit seemed to 
have left him; he looked so limp and finished — 
and such a shocking coward! I felt I could have 
taken him in my hand and squeezed him like 
a sponge. I could no more have struck him 
than I could have struck a dog which was 
dying. 

He was seated in the window recess, rocking 
himself in what seemed an agony of contrition. 
His face was hid in his hands, and from the 
movement of his shoulders I thought that he 
was sobbing. It is an awful thing to see a man 
cry. Such an act is an expression from the 
depths of human sorrow, a sorrow so poignant 


THE TUNNEL 


257 

and so pitiful that it is placed almost beyond the 
pale of sympathy. 

For a little while he leant forward on his 
hands, whilst I watched him with a thought of 
what I think was pity on my face. All of a 
sudden his hand shot to the left under the win- 
dow curtain. Then there followed immediately 
a loud report, a volume of smoke rose, and a 
pistol bullet tore past me so close to my head 
that my nostrils were filled with the smell of 
singeing as the bullet sped through my hair. 

I sprang at Cathcart, struck him on the jaw 
with my fist, and flung him on the bed. I was 
tingling with an anger which inspired me. I 
dragged down a dog-whip from the wall. It 
was the one they used for the boarhounds, and 
was weighted with lead at the head, and was 
short and thick and made of knotted leather 
thongs. 

“ This is the reckoning,” said I. And 
neither of us said another word. 

I flogged him until the clothing on his body 
and legs was cut into shreds as though it had 
been torn by wolves. Then I flogged his bare 
flesh until the blood ran, and his skin was 
ploughed over into weals and running ruts. I 
rested every now and again to get my breath. 


258 A LADY’S HONOR 

whilst he moaned and screamed for mercy. 
Then I flogged him again until he could not 
stand. I wondered at my own brutality, but it 
seemed a righteous act. His crimes I could 
comprehend, his falsehoods I could disregard, 
his conduct to my lady even I could pardon, but 
his hypocrisy before God and His altar was an 
act despicable and inhuman, which degraded 
him lower than that which crawls. His chastise- 
ment I felt to be an act of grace. At last he 
dropped under me on his knees, like a sheep 
whose legs have been hocked. Then he sunk 
in a heap on the floor. I was trembling and un- 
strung, and he was bloody and naked of clothes; 
but, my God! how I enjoyed giving that hiding. 


CHAPTER XVII 


AN ACCES30RY BEFORE THE FACT 

Things had now began to assume a definite 
shape. I had quite decided that once for all 
there must be a general clearing of issues. I 
meant now to get Cathcart out of that villa — 
dead or alive. I left him lying on the floor — • 
there was needed no further evidence than his 
condition that he could cause no further trouble 
now. I walked through the hall to the armory, 
glancing in on the way at the Count’s rooms, to 
find the two serving-meri still in a drunken sleep. 
In the armory I hunted about and found a pair 
of wrist straps such as are used to secure crim- 
inals at the stocks. Then I returned to Cath- 
cart. He was holding himself up partly on his 
elbow. I still held the whip in my hand. 

“ I can tell you what you had better do,” 
said I. Go first and bathe, and then And an- 
other suit of clothes.” 

He turned over on his side, cursing me in 

259 


26 o 


A LADY’S HONOR 


the foulest language. Then he started to roar 
for the two men. I had little fear, however, that 
they would be roused by any noise in this room 
as the door was closed, and before the hubbub of 
the thrashing had not disturbed them. But it 
was a different affair to get Cathcart out of the 
house. He would raise the devil in the hall, and 
I thought I could not fight them both, with 
Cathcart falling on my legs. I had thought of 
gagging him, but he was so certainly in pain 
from the weals on his neck that I had not then 
the heart to do so. Besides, this would not get 
him out of the house. He must go out with me, 
and hence the reason for the wrist straps. I 
would fasten his right wrist to my left, and then 
with my sword in my right hand fight my way 
from the villa. 

I caught him by the wrist and lifted him to 
his feet. Then I bound one of his arms to his 
side, and afterwards strapped his other wrist to 
mine. I even did my best to fasten a torn pil- 
low-case over his mouth, but he pulled and tore 
so with his teeth that I could not succeed. Then 
I caught up my sword and half dragged, half 
carried him into the hall. Immediately he had 
passed through the door he set up a frantic 
shouting. “Foster! Merriman! ” he roared. 


AN ACCESSORY 


261 


there is bloody murder in the house.’’ He 
clung round my body like a bear, and before I 
could cross the hall the two men appeared at the 
doorway of the Count’s room. 

Each carried in his hand one of their mas- 
ter’s swords. With my free hands I would not 
have cared a farthing for two serving-men 
armed with their lord’s weapons, but it was a 
different matter with Cathcart dragging and 
biting at my side. At once he did his best to 
overturn me, but — for he was weak with the 
blood he had lost — he could not do this. He 
hung like a wolf at my side, wriggling and curs- 
ing, and I turned the unsteady point of my 
sword towards the two men. 

My first thought was that they might hesi- 
tate — seeing a naked point — as men will often 
do whose mission in life is to serve and not to 
fight. They, however, must have had some 
training in such affairs, for they came straight at 
me and furiously. I had my back to the hall 
door now. If, I thought, I could contrive to 
open the door, the Count, watching from across 
the river, might soon come to my aid. But I 
had but two hands, and one was strapped to 
Cathcart whilst the other held my sword. Cath- 
cart for the moment had ceased to trouble. I 


262 


A LADY’S HONOR 


do not care greatly what happens now,” I told 
him; “ I have had enough of it. But at the 
worst, I shall kill you first, and take whatever 
chances come afterwards.” 

The two men came at me. Directly we 
became engaged Cathcart set up a furious strug- 
gling. He tried to throw himself on the floor as 
I, driving my sword out to a lunge, wounded one 
of the men through the shoulder. Then I lost 
my balance and came heavily to the ground, 
with Cathcart underneath. The second man ran 
at me. I was sitting on Cathcart, but with my 
sword arm still free. The strap still held, al- 
though, from the shocking pain which followed 
the wrench of the fall, I thought my wrist must 
be dislocated. The second fellow came at me as 
I was thrown in this position, but at his first 
thrust I managed to turn his point aside. By 
this time the second man had found the sword 
which he had dropped, and spite his wound, 
came up to his comrade. With a last effort I 
struggled to my feet, and dragging Cathcart 
Vvdth me like a horse in a shaft, cut right and 
left with my sword, after the manner of the cav- 
alry exercise. I had got to make a show, and 
although I did no harm I cleared a space round 
me, and the two fell off for the moment like a 


AN ACCESSORY 


263 


couple of half-bred dogs. I stepped back again 
and put my back to the door, lifting Cathcart 
with me. Here I managed to bring my strapped 
hand on to the handle (for the bolts were not 
drawn), and I turned it round. The door 
opened outwards, and I kicked it back with my 
heel. Thus I stood framed in the doorway, at 
the top of the steps; and then the two came 
on at me again. If I could hold my own here 
but for a few moments the Count must see me 
from the other side of the river; so I fought 
quietly, just turning the points and keeping 
them back by a mock thrust now and again. 
But I was fagged out, and weary beyond think- 
ing, and it was as much as ever I could do to 
sustain even this semblance of fighting. 

Cathcart was cursing and twisting by my 
side, and I was unsteady with his weight at my 
hip. The two rough swordsmen at my front 
were stabbing and slashing in a fashion which 
made up in earnestness what it lacked in skill. 
It was therefore with great relief that I heard 
the plash of oars at my back, and I knew the 
Count would soon be with me. The sound of 
their master (whom of course at present I could 
not see) stung the two into making a last effort, 
and perhaps myself into making a last defense. 


264 


A LADY’S HONOR 


They rushed at me together and forced me 
back on to the top step, but with my fastened 
hand I had managed to draw my dagger, and 
by cutting slightly into Cathcart’s leg I forced 
him to desist from his struggling. I had been 
turning their points and meeting their blades 
until my wrist throbbed like a live coal. Then 
at last I heard the grating of a boat against the 
steps. In another moment the Count sprang 
to my side. He made a great lunge from the 
doorway, and spun his sword through the heart 
of one man, whilst I slashed at the other and cut 
him down. In one clap the whole situation had 
changed. 

I turned to see my cousin Katherine at my 
side. 

“ O my heart! ” she said; “ how sick I am 
of these sights.” 

It is not for any longer,” said the Count; 
“ there shall be an end to it now.” He led Kath- 
erine into his own drawing-room, and closed the 
door. Then he returned and unbuckled Cath- 
cart from my side, and tied his hands together at 
his back. 

You are too resourceful for our party,” he 
said to him; 'therefore, my friend, we shall 
spend but little time on this affair. With M. 


AN ACCESSORY 


265 


Crighton’s concurrence, however, I offer an 
alternative. As one holding a commission, you 
are entitled to the privilege of being shot. We 
offer you that or hanging — as you please. It 
now wants thirty minutes to ten o’clock. When 
the clock strikes the hour the whole business 
must be finished.” 

He took a short rope from a cupboard, care- 
fully fashioned a noose, and standing on a chair 
fastened it to a beam on the ceiling. The beam 
was about ten feet from the floor, the noose 
hung only about a foot from the beam, and he 
placed a chair immediately beneath the beam, 
so that the idea was complete. 

As a personal matter,” said the Count, “ I 
incline to the noose, but I do not wish to favor 
my own handiwork; so there remains the clear 
option of the shooting,” and he loaded two pis- 
tols and laid them on the table at his side. 

Then Katherine, with a very white face, ap- 
peared at the threshold of the Count’s rooms. 

“ What will you do with him? ” she asked 
slowly. 

“ Madame,” said the Count, '' I request that 
you will keep your room. What is to follow 
is man’s work. I beg that you will retire, and 
leave this affair to the honor of your friends.” 


266 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ What will you do with him? ” she asked 
again. 

The clock struck the quarter to ten. 

“ Come,” he said again, as one who is used 
to be obeyed; “ I must insist upon your leaving.” 

“ Kate,” Cathcart broke in, “ won’t you 
speak for me? They mean murder to me. You 
have not changed so utterly that you have 
no pity for me now? You would be for ever 
sorry if you let this time pass and did nothing 
for me.” 

“ Whatever the lady may say or desire,” 
interposed the Count, “ will not make any differ- 
ence. I am determined that this matter shall go 
through.” 

You can’t stand here and see this happen, 
Kate,” Cathcart broke out again, pointing to 
the noose swinging from the beam. '' It is too 
horrible. After all, I am a countryman. You 
can’t deny that once you did not hate me. For 
the sake of those times you cannot see this 
done.” 

''Come, Katherine,” said I; "do not listen 
to him. We beg of you to return to your room.” 

The Count and myself were standing to- 
gether near the door, whilst Katherine, who had 
walked across the hall, was within a few yards 


AN ACCESSORY 267 

of Cathcart. Suddenly we saw Cathcart sidle 
forward and whisper something in the lady’s ear; 
we started forward to seize hini. Katherine 
threw herself in our way, whilst Cathcart, 
snatching one of his hands free from the strap, 
caught up a pistol from the table, and flung him- 
self into the closet in which he had before spent 
the night with the dogs. It had all happened in 
a flash, and Katherine’s connivance was incom- 
prehensible. We rushed across the hall after 
him, but Katherine placed herself before the 
door which he had now closed. 

You shall not go to him,” she said. 

The Count caught her by the wrist. 

'' Lady,” said he, “ this is not the time for 
civility. You must stand aside from that door; 
otherwise you must be compelled to do so. To 
use force I should regret beyond expression. 
Therefore I respectfully ask you to obey.” 

'' Oh no, no, no,” she cried.; “ wait only one 
moment.” 

Just as she spoke a shot rang out in the 
closet, and Katherine moved away from the 
door. The clock struck ten. '' It is all over 
now,” she said quietly, "‘and it is better so.” 

The Count threw open the door, and I 
looked in to see Cathcart, in the dim light, a 

18 


268 


A LADY’S HONOR 


sprawling shape on the floor. The Count 
touched him — he was dead. 

“ De mortuis nil nisi bomim,” said the Count 
reverently, and crossed himself. 

No mention was made of Katherine’s part 
in the tragedy. What he had said to her we 
did not know, and never learnt. Perhaps there 
was no doubt she" knew what the consumma- 
tion was to be when he entered the closet. 
Mayhap in the few whispered words he had said 
he had begged her to keep the door for him, and 
she had guessed, perhaps, for what reason. It 
was better so, she had thought then, and at the 
end we thought so too. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 

The journey back to Brussels was silent and 
uneventful, each being occupied with their 
own thoughts, which were not perhaps of an al- 
together pleasant kind. He that was dead (and 
I think that not one of us in their conscience 
could regret it) had been a person other than 
the ordinary, and this in a world of common- 
place is not lightly to be passed over. He had in 
his own design chosen the evil rather than the 
good. His career had been deliberate and un- 
deniable. Of his wickedness — whatever might 
be condoned — many acts had been infamous be- 
yond expression; and no man — and in particular 
myself — could wish him otherwhere than the 
gallows. So instead of a great shadow over us 
there must have been some feeling of relief. 
Yet as he was dead, there remained nothing 
against which justice could cry out; and as he 

was dead it were perhaps all best forgotten. 

269 


270 A LADY’S HONOR 

I am not sure, too, that now it was all over, 
that some of my old liking did not return. He 
had possessed so many graces and endearments 
which appeal to the weakness of mortals; and 
I could not forget our former intimacy. He 
was like a beautiful glistening pool set among 
flowers and drooping trees, but beneath it all, 
which for long you cannot see, is a dank mud 
out of which is emitted a vaporous poison. Yet 
he was dead, and, as the Count had said, “ De 
mortuis nil nisi bonnm.'^ 

We made our journey to Brussels in a car- 
riage; and, alas, for my dreams of fame, we re- 
turned to find the Battle of Oudenarde fought 
and won, and whatever chance that great event 
might have held for me had passed over. The 
war for that season was done, and many regi- 
ments were under orders to England, whither, 
as simple Captain Crighton, I was soon to fol- 
low. My cousin, of course, returned to her 
home with the Countess Vanburton, whilst I 
for the present returned to my duties, and the 
Count took up his quarters in the hotel. 

Having seen my cousin to her home, and 
made what case I could for her absence, I de- 
termined to call on my uncle, Sir Peter. I felt 
that he should at once be acquainted with the 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 271 


news about Cathcart. He had taken a hand- 
some house, facing the public square. About 
nine o’clock in the evening I called on him, and 
he came towards me with a gloom in his pinched 
face and a shadow in his bright eyes, and looked 
so very tired, as if not only his work but the 
world wearied him. 

Good evening, sir,” said I. 

“ Sit,” said he; “ there is an amount of ar- 
rears of conversation between us which I desire 
to overtake.” 

Said I : I have news that were best told 
standing.” 

“ Well, anyhow,” said he, let us have it 
blunt. It will be no better for keeping.” 

“ Sir,” said I, “ he is dead — and that by his 
own hand. I am rejoiced that I had no part 
in it.” 

He stared at me for some time as if he were 
saying his tables — that same odd look I had 
seen in his son’s face, but there was nothing to 
show what his feelings might be. I gave him 
some particulars of the affair. 

Well, well, well,” he said at length; “ he is 
dead, you say, and I thank God for it. It is well 
that he killed himself. From his birth he has 
been the burden of my life, but I would have 


272 


A LADY’S HONOR 


killed any that had harmed him. Now I would 
forget his crimes. He had a golden tongue; he 
almost persuaded me that your absence from 
this planet was desirable. I tried to frighten 
you, but your pluck in staying saved your life, I 
think.’^ 

He sat down on the side of the hearth, 
where, although it was early August, there was 
a bright fire burning; but even so he seemed to 
feel the cold. I felt sorry to see him so down- 
cast and stranded with, as it seemed, all the 
flame of his life burned out. 

Gur,” he murmured; I have no blood. 
But,’’ he added, “ it was not always so. There 
may be a pair of lips more tender, eyes that are 
sweeter, and a beauty more appealing, but I 
have not met them in this world of which I have 
seen so much. I think of his mother now as I 
first knew her. Her husband I killed — the 
pimping fool — in the fields off Richmond one 
gray November morning — ay, colder than it is 
now,” and he shivered in spite of the sum- 
mer. 

He continued: “ I loved her, and he thought 
there was ill between us; but it was not so, for 
though she loved me she would never have 
broken her word. I stabbed him for his lie in 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 273 

fair fight in those damp fields, and we drove 
back to London with the dead body in the 
coach — five of us and him all crowded together. 
His blood ran on to my hand as I sat by his side, 
but that was no matter, for I have never had 
any thought of blood — no more than you for 
water. As I saw it, 'twas an insult to her that 
he should say she had broken a promise made 
in a church, and so I had stabbed him for it, 
and I was glad.” 

My uncle dropped his head in his hands and 
stared into the fire. 

Well then, though she loved me, she would 
not speak nor have aught to do with me; and 
she went into Europe (for her husband had been 
a peer and she was well provided), and she lived 
away from those people and things to which 
she had been accustomed. 

'' Then, after a year, I met her with her 
maid at a turn, face to face, in this very city of 
Brussels, and she was still all in deep mourning, 
and she would have passed me as if I had 
been a footman, but that I held out my hand 
to her straight, and then, as it seemed, all 
her thoughts melted, and there was no drawing 
back. 

Yet, though I begged her, she would never 


A LADY’S HONOR 


274 

marry me — for had I not killed her husband? — 
but she would love me in a way than which I 
asked nothing better; but to her resolve not to 
marry she remained true, and that no circum- 
stance would alter. Yet she was religious too, 
and — for I may say so, being an old man — she 
loved me so that she thought nothing of herself, 
although she was a great lady, and it was I who 
cared for and guarded sedulously her reputation. 
She was a great lady, I say, but also she was a 
woman; but I think of her in no other way than 
with love and gratitude. For such things there 
is no remorse.’^ 

He still stared into the fire, and he continued 
in a tone in which there seemed to be something 
of relief that he could tell this tale to some one: 
“ Her great sorrow was our son, and he as he 
grew in years took no heed of the laws; neither 
honor had he nor character, and he was a scoun- 
drel in his teens. I had my work, but she had 
nothing; and he killed her — the brute! — as sure- 
ly as I would have killed you had you killed him. 
For his mother could not keep his birth from 
him. He would in our presence, and in a subtle 
wicked way, so flash the thought upon us 
(through the fear of informing others), that he 
had what money he asked. When but a boy 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 275 


he lived the life of a man, and was skilled in all 
the arts of wickedness before he was twenty. 
And yet we dearly loved him. 

“ For years this persecution continued. To 
you, perhaps, it seems infamous and impossible, 
perhaps, that a son should blackmail his mother; 
but it was more than that — it was the very 
culture of villainy. It was all managed in a 
manner so delicate that there was never any 
rudeness or disturbance. I would have given 
my last blood to have saved her name from the 
faintest breath of scandal, whilst he, perhaps, 
for a tavern wager, would have dragged her in 
the mud. When he could get no more from me 
he would go straight to his mother, hiding his 
threats in fair speeches; and she denied him 
nothing. I say that he killed her — the devil! — 
and it is true that he did. 

“ It was not even so far these incessant de- 
mands for money which distressed her, as it was 
his life in London, which, as he grew notorious, 
reached her ears. He cared for no law and no 
authority; he lived only for his own base de- 
lights. Health he had in splendid abundance, 
and he scattered it like a spendthrift. Every ex- 
cess in which he espied pleasure he wooed like a 
mistress.'' 


276 


A LADY’S HONOR 


He took a gold snufif-box from his fob, and 
took several great pinches. 

“ For myself in this time,” he continued, 
my work was my solace and satisfaction. I 
grew to be famous in London as a physician, as 
my son grew notorious as a profligate. In 
Medicine I took for my studies matters which 
my confrhes disregarded, so that I began to 
be looked on askance as a practitioner in the 
black arts, and I was in no way popular among 
my profession. For this I cared nothing. For 
I saw, which they did not, that to science must 
be added imagination. I made a discovery — if 
you will call it such — which all doctors now scoff 
at, but which I know to be true. Disease, I 
found, is not a judgment or a punishment; but 
for each malady in time will be accounted a 
reason and an antidote. Disease impregnates 
the air we breathe like millions of invisible 
gnats, and when they bite we take the malady 
for which they are the heralds. Some, however, 
stand for health as the others do for sickness, 
and they are enemies to each other. Therefore, 
when a man is affected by the evil gnat, the 
secret is to affect him with a stronger and 
healthier gnat which will destroy the evil. To 
find the stronger, to kill the weaker, is to cure 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 277 


the world of pain. Something of this I have 
found; but I am old now and others must come 
after me, and it is for this work that I am reck- 
oned either a fool or a magician. 

In this labor, therefore, I had discovered 
solace and perhaps comfort; but for the lady 
there was no occupation, and her thoughts fell 
into a decline, and as for such maladies of the 
emotions there can be no cure, she died. She 
was the lady I mentioned to you the night after 
your father rode to London. 

“ Yet, in spite of my detractors, every one 
knows how I have succeeded in this world; but 
I fancy only myself knows how I have failed. 
Since she died — ten years ago — I have cared for 
nothing but my work and the vices I have since 
cultivated. When a young man goes to the 
devil, as it is called, he goes there with a con- 
science; but at fifty it is a matter of arithmetic, 
in which there is no limit but one’s own talent 
for pleasure and estimate of health. With such 
ambitions, why, what sort of man should it 
make of me? Here am I, forsaken and old be- 
fore my time. I feel now like a man who can- 
not sleep, and sees the morning coldly creeping 
into his chamber; and he looks on the day with- 
out hope.’' 


278 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ Yet, sir,” said I, “ it is surely not too late 
to pass into a reposeful old age.” 

“ Boy,” he answered, “ you think me a fool 
because of my experiences. It is not so; I am a 
fool in spite of them. For myself, I think of 
them rather with elation than remorse, and also 
with a sort of secret satisfaction that so much 
which other men have fervently desired has 
fallen to me; and it has been neither for my 
wealth nor my looks. Therefore I regret noth- 
ing. Why, if the times were repeated, I would 
do no less. I will not tell you what I would do, 
but it would not be to fall into milder ways. I 
speak this in fancy with my face to the stage 
upon which, as I look, is all music and move- 
ment. I rejoice in the flame, but I deplore the 
smell of the candles. For it is then, when the 
lights are lowered and the place is deserted, that 
the ashes of life come into my thoughts; for 
whatever I reflect at other times, in these fancies 
there is no abiding peace. I am old, yellow, and 
forsaken, and my time has gone by. I have 
lived too long, and the greatest act in the life 
of an artist (which I have sometimes reckoned 
myself) is to die at the opportune moment. In 
that regret, if you will press me, I am remorse- 
ful. For I have not the courage to snuff my 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 279 


own candle. I am a selfish old reprobate, if you 
like, but I ask you to be careful in your talk.” 

“ But that is what I have not said,” I inter- 
rupted. 

“ I can see you clearly thinking the 
thought,” said he; “ but do not stroke your con- 
science hurriedly. You will never see what I 
have seen, nor know what I have known. 
Therefore it is that humility is becoming in your 
young fancy. It is a rapture to look back and 
see these scenes rise up before me, each in its 
separate romance and situation, so real and 
vivid, and yet in another moment shriveled and 
base and past. Each, for the time of thinking 
the one absolute matter in the world, and yet 
in a stroke of the mind an event without peace 
or profit. For no one cares now — and the world 
is full of draughts,” and again he shivered and 
took snuff. 

Then suddenly he changed his tone ; his eyes 
brightened and he stood straight on the rug at 
the hearth, so that I was, age and physical differ- 
ences notwithstanding, irresistibly reminded of 
the son. 

Well,” he cried with a laugh (an emotion I 
had never before seen on his face), “ it is a poor 
spirit which curses the glass because it is empty 


28 o 


A LADY’S HONOR 


when he himself has taken its dregs. My son 
was thrashed in Antwerp — you will remember — 
at my instigation, because he was disobedient, 
and surely I have courage to face the discords of 
my age. A plague on your youth for its poor 
pleasures — they are nothing to the maturer de- 
lights of age. In the latter you may take your 
pleasure in the spirit of comprehension, not in 
the boorish and impatient way of childhood. 
You have ceased to be a novice and are learn- 
ing to be an epicure. All the world is a shining 
panorama, full of color and life, and you a critic 
filled with keen interest and understanding — not 
a boy with bandaged eyes blundering along an 
unknown road.” 

If,” said I, “ I were not your most respect- 
ful nephew, I might reflect that your sentiments 
are scarcely logical.” 

It is a mistake,” said he, “ to remember 
too closely, as it is an error to forget too readily. 
Because I am old you pity me; because I am 
wicked you dishonor me; because I am lost you 
pray for me. Yet in all these things you are 
out of tune. I am old because I cannot help it; 
I am wicked because I like it ; I am lost because 
it is logic that it should be so. If things had 
shaped themselves differently, why, doubtless, I 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 281 


would have a different note to call now. I ad- 
mit I do not know, and therefore again I am 
logical. A lady would not think so hard of me,’^ 
he added. “ I must ask my niece, whom I have 
greatly neglected, to dine with me and then in- 
vite her opinion.” 

“ My cousin, I am sure,” said I, “ would only 
be greatly concerned that your spirits are so 
low.” 

Low, lad,” said he; “ why, they were never 
at a pitch so merry. All I have said to you is 
by way of reminiscence, from which to point a 
moral. I counsel you to marry; to marry a lady 
with beauty and wit if you are able; or at least 
with one or the other; or better than nothing, 
with neither — so long as she is a woman; only 
marry — before it is too late.” 

Where, sir, shall I look for a wife? ” I 
asked. 

“Where?” he queried; “why, in the city 
and the market-place, in the chocolate house or 
the temple; it is no matter where, but find 
her you must. But first I would advance one 
name to your consideration — your cousin Kath- 
erine.” 

“ Why,” say I, starting, “ she would as soon 
glance at a Hottentot.” 


282 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ Hast ever asked her? said he. 

‘‘ Not I,” I say, “ I’d as lief speak lightly of 
holy things.” 

“Your humility will at least permit you to 
listen,” said he; “ I will only tell you that seeing 
my time behind me as I do, if I could call it 
back, and I had a grain of chance for such a 
lady, why, I would move heaven and earth to 
improve it.” 

“ You must see a speck of hope,” say I, “ be- 
fore you can add to it.” 

“Bah!” he retorts angrily, “you are a 
coward as well as a fool. On this condition I 
had meant to leave you every penny to my 
name, and now it shall be a crop wherewith to 
beat yourself.” 

Then I heard a great knocking at the 
door, and in a few moments there were steps 
on the stairs, and then the door was thrown 
open by a man-servant whose voice, in 
mingled pride and triumph, announced, The 
Duke of Marlborough”; and with a quick 
step the General entered the room. “ Ah, I 
am glad to see you, Sir Peter,” said he, 
and added: “ I am come to take you to Lon- 
don.” 

“This is my nephew. Captain Crighton,” 


SIR PETER OPENS HIS MOUTH 283 

said my uncle, with a cordiality which almost 
took my breath away. 

“ Captain Crighton and myself are already 
acquainted,” said the Duke. “ We have met in 
Antwerp and in Brussels, and, if I remember 
aright, at a club in London — an odd place, I 
think, called the Red Bodice — where I lost my 
snuff-box.” 

Yes, your Grace,” said I; remember 
well the circumstance.” 

When last we were in London,” said he, 
I was so unfortunate as to forget the affair, 
in spite of my guineas and the snuff-box. At 
the present you will permit me to remember; 
and to inform you that I appreciate highly your 
services on that occasion.” 

I saw the wonder on my uncle’s face, but I 
still thought this a good point at which to take 
my departure. 

As I bowed and turned to leave, my uncle 
walked with me to the doorway. Now if you 
please, I would make you a present,” said he, 
or rather I would return to you a piece of 
property of which I have for long had the loan,” 
and he pressed into my hand a flat metal case. 
In the street I stayed outside, near a link-boy’s 
light, and opened my hand on his offering. At 

19 


284 


A LADY^S HONOR 


once I recognized the silver case my uncle had 
taken from me at the time my father died. As 
with him, my finger found the spring, and the 
case flew open before me, and showed clear as 
life a face I had hoped never to have met again. 


CHAPTER XIX 


I HESITATE 

I SLEPT on what had been told me, but 
strangely enough impressions of my uncle and 
his confidences were not so apparent in my mind 
as were my thoughts of my cousin and the 
Count. Well, the morrow which in my own 
room I had intended should mean so much 
brought forth but little to comfort me in my 
green sickness. I had grown by this time to 
be heartily jealous of the Count, not, I hope, 
in any unmanly selfish way, but it is surely 
only human not to rejoice at the thought of 
losing that which one holds dear, and the 
thought of this had somehow riveted itself in 
my head. In the afternoon of that day we 
both called on the Countess Vanburton, who 
greeted us very kindly — studiously forgetful of 
the peregrinations we had recently imposed 
upon her ward. Katherine was seated at the 

window, and rose as we entered the room, 

285 


286 


A LADY’S HONOR 


and very soon the Count and she were talking 
together with great animation. The Countess 
turned to me. 

“ I regard you,” she said, ‘‘ as a bird of ill 
omen. Whenever I see you it is a warning that 
the sky will change. Do, Adam, make the next 
change for the better.” Soon after she had to 
leave the room on some business, and we three 
— Katherine, the Count, and myself — were left 
alone. 

“You will be leaving for England soon?” 
asked the Count of my cousin. 

“ I think so,” said she; “ as soon as our af- 
fairs are in order.” 

“ There are some who will be greatly sorry 
to lose you,” said he. 

• “ I shall be sorry too,” said she, “ to lose 
many kind friends.” 

“We may meet, in England, you know,” 
said he. 

“Surely you’ll not come too,” she asked. 
“ I thought you Europeans regard our home as 
a damp and dreadful place.” 

“ I myself do,” said he, “ but I also know it 
to be well inhabited.” 

“ Surely you know nothing of Its Inhabitants 
if you have never been there.” 


I HESITATE 


287 


You are an inhabitant — that is sufficient/^ 

“ Thank you,” she answered with a smile; 
“ but Adam is an islander as well as 1.” 

I am proud to call M. Crighton my friend,” 
he said, with a bow. 

“ Perhaps,” she said, “ you may spare a 
little time to see us in our place. You 
would be very welcome. It is a quiet country 
life, I am told, with nothing in it of swords and 
smoke.” 

“ Believe me,” said he, “ I would ask for no 
other thing than your quiet country. Of war 
I am satisfied. Henceforth it is my heart I 
would cultivate and not my arm.” 

‘‘ You speak as if you were wishing to be in 
love,” she said. 

'' Ah well,” said he, there are many worse 
occupations — only that I am rather old for such 
a thing. It is a game for the young.” 

Oh no,” said Katherine; “ there is no such 
restriction. All may play that are earnest and 
have the fitting playmate.” 

I am the first without any doubt,” said he, 
but for the second I am not — it is the pity — 
in the least able to tell.” 

am sorry for you,” said the lady; “but 
you will never know until you ask — and maybe 


288 


A LADY’S HONOR 


not then. Men are so strange — directly they 
want something badly they are dumb, and will 
not ask for it. Is it not so, Adam? she said, 
turning to me. 

I had been glancing at some pictures in a 
book, although my thoughts were not in the 
drawings. '' Oh, I am a quiet being,’’ said I, 
crestfallen, and no example.” 

“ You are a disagreeable, horrid person,” 
said she, and turned again to the Count. 

If, I argued, they talked in this way before 
me, what might be said when I was not there? 
and I imagined the Count’s fond speeches and 
glances and much else to make me miserable. 

For, as I thought, the Count seemed an al- 
together admirable husband for Katherine. He 
was handsome, rich, and distinguished, with a 
tenderness of manner for those he cared for 
which was a silent though unconscious appeal 
to any woman’s favor. He seemed beside my- 
self such a splendid type of man that I could not 
believe that before him any woman would hesi- 
tate. I think, indeed, I should have thought the 
less of Katherine had she not thought highly of 
him. The number of real women in the world 
is limited, and to appeal to them with success 
a man must possess either good looks or per- 


I HESITATE 


289 


sonality, perhaps both. Both these things in a 
high degree the Count h^ld, and I neither; so 
how could I doubt his triumph? 

Perhaps I was sorry the Count had ever ap- 
peared. Sometimes, as I looked at them to- 
gether, I thought of this, and hated myself for 
the selfishness. To see two people happy in 
their own company and to reproach oneself that 
it should be so was surely an abhorrent form of 
selfishness. 

Not, at this time, I was any less earnest in 
my cause, although, as I was convinced, my 
chances were as a mote in the blue heavens. If 
at any moment I was ever plumed at myself, 
a single look at the Count would always tell 
me this. We never, be it said to our credit, 
discussed the lady between us, except to men- 
tion her as a friend in the ordinary circumstances 
of life. Once, however, when the Count called 
to see me and found me in a more than usually 
gloomy mood, he laid his hand gently on my 
shoulder. “ After all,” he said quietly, it will 
kill neither of us — and what is more, it will be 
one or the other.” 

If then, I considered, my situation was pal- 
pable to a man, how much more clear must it 
be to a woman; but if she had smiled at my 


290 


A LADY’S HONOR 


condition I think I should have cut my throat — 
it was all so deadly serious to me. 

When I was away 1 would rehearse with in- 
finite pains what I should say to her when we 
met, and when, by the grace of Heaven, we did 
meet, there I would stand all tongue-tied and 
faltering, with a blunted wit and an unsettled 
spirit. 

If, as not infrequently happened, the Count 
and myself were calling together, it seemed that 
there we were in the scale before her — he with 
his dignified assurance, and myself with my 
painful laborings to appear at ease. Yet, as I 
told myself, I had actually kissed her once, and 
now I was meandering when mayhap I might be 
making progress. Should I take my fate in my 
hands and have it out? To do this with another 
woman might have been clear sailing, but it 
was not so with Katherine. She had, it seemed, 
not only the most perfect control over herself, 
but also over every other person about her. 
You might ride on as you pleased for a way, and 
then you came to a cross-road, and here by a 
word or a movement, or the slightest shade of 
expression, you were thrown out in the hedge 
shoeless and forsaken. Yet it was accomplished 
with such exquisite feminine neatness that there 


I HESITATE 


291 


was not even the comfort afterwards of explain- 
ing to yourself how it came to happen. 

Then it was that the Countess journeyed to 
England, and, as I was informed, she was to 
take a house in my old county of Norfolk, and 
the Count Vanburton, her husband, was to join 
her later if the Prince Eugene would let him go. 
My cousin Katherine, of course, accompanied 
her. It was but a week later that, the times 
being slack. La Torre and myself followed 
them. I had written to my uncle. Sir Peter, in 
London, and obtained permission to live in my 
father’s old house in Norfolk, which — for even 
in this world matters cut themselves fortuitously 
sometimes — was but ten miles from my cousin’s 
dwelling. 

In England, although the scene was 
changed, I cannot say that the general situation 
was improved. Sometimes the Count and my- 
self would ride over and call together, some- 
times he alone, and sometimes — although he 
was always a charming companion — I would 
ride over by myself. Between us there seemed a 
sort of tacit agreement (most honorably carried 
out) that each should have fair opportunities. 
The Countess Vanburton was generally in the 
house, and my cousin in the garden, which was 


292 


A LADY’S HONOR 


beautiful in the ripe glory of August. However 
slight my chances might be, I had determined 
here in England, my native heath, once for all 
to bring them to the crux of decision. As I told 
myself again and again, possessing nothing I 
had nothing to lose, and deserving nothing, 
surely as there is a Heaven, everything to 
gain. 

1 might arrive at my cousin’s in the after- 
noon, with the steadfast resolve of making, at 
any rate, some small but positive progress. I 
might resolve, let me say, to kiss her hand. One 
such occasion I remember clearly. 

Good afternoon, Adam,” said she, and I 
liked to listen to my name. 

“ Good afternoon, Kate,” said I, and I liked 
to repeat her own. 

Of course I could not dare in the early morn- 
ing of our interview to attempt any undertak- 
ing so tremendous as I desired. I must lead up 
to it, I thought. Yet, if she were in any stand- 
offish mood, I knew I should go blundering on 
to my doom. 

She was sitting on a lounge seat in the 
garden, with her head thrown back, and I 
came and stood over her, looking into her 
eyes. 


I HESITATE 


293 

Why should you stare so? she asked, al- 
though meeting my eyes. 

“ Is it that I am doing? ” said L “ I thought 
I was looking into two wonderful pools, all 
swimming with sunlight, yet full of depth. And 
they are the property of an owner who is always 
charming and even kind — on occasion.” 

“That is a long speech' for a silly child,” 
said she. 

“ All right,” said I, “ defame me; I have no 
friends.” 

“ Well, to be sure,” said she, “ you are most 
ungrateful.” 

“ I fear I have not quite learned to reckon 
you in that way,” said I. 

“ Then,” said she, “ the sooner the bet- 
ter.” 

And I knew that there could then be no 
more thought of kissing hands. Had I not, as a 
shadow in my mind, fancied kissing her lips? 
Why, I would have parted with my heart to 
have thought it possible. I had touched her 
hand at meeting many times, and her robe, and 
the hem of her sleeve. Perhaps, in my heart 
alone, I had fancied more than this, although 
I think that even in the imagining the material 
held but a faint part. It were cant to say there 


294 


A LADY’S HONOR 


was no such thing, but it was too subtle and 
removed from the actual to be identified in black 
and white. The whole idea of Katherine was 
like a splendid perfume, through the scent of 
which the whole world seemed in bud. 

There was no one needed to call me fool; 
I was thoroughly convinced of it myself. I 
should, some men “would say, have gone to her 
straight, and taken her in my arms and kissed 
her, be the consequences what they might. I 
even calculated that there could not be more 
than one hundred and thirty pounds of her to 
account for my fearfulness. I argued that, as a 
matter of avoirdupois, it was not sufficient; but, 
as I reflected, such matters have not the faintest 
relation to the scale. I think to have touched 
her cheek with my little finger would have sent 
my heart racing and my blood tingling with an 
unspeakable sensation. 

But I no more dared to do any such thing 
than I could have thrown stones at the Queen. 
Even if I had been her husband — and I turned 
cold with wonder to think of such a notion — I 
felt to have kissed her would have been a re- 
ligious ceremony. Yet she was, after all, but a 
woman, say one hundred and thirty pounds 
avoirdupois. Why, the whole matter was ridic- 


I HESITATE 


295 


ulous; of course it was absurd. I had not, 
indeed, the remotest reason for thinking other- 
wise; for I believe that if ever I had suspected 
that she cared for me the knowledge would 
make me immortal. 


CHAPTER XX 


SHE DECIDES 

So it was that, for all her kindness, it always 
seemed that I durst not touch her. About her 
to me there was an invisible circle, and over this 
no hand, anyhow not mine, might pass. If by 
a chance I touched her arm, why, she shook her- 
self ever so slightly, as a zephyr runs through 
leaves. Then she would smile up at me as if 
she dared me to come on, yet telling me plainly 
too, in the fringe of her eyes, that if I did it 
would be worst for me. The ice must be broken, 
I knew; but what if there were only colder water 
underneath? She was so proud that I thought 
there could hardly be any place for weakness. 
Yet there was sometimes a light in her eyes, and 
a softness in her lips, which told me that it could 
not all be snow. 

Yet, even so, it all came back to the question 
of what (admitting the highest fortune) she 
could possibly find in me to care about. I even 

296 


SHE DECIDES 


297 


went to the length of glancing at myself in a 
mirror (which she sometimes used herself), and 
the sight unnerved me. I reflected: 

“ You are a glum-looking, queer-looking, 
rough-looking creation to think yourself worthy 
to lace the shoe of a lady so beautiful. Down 
on your knees, dog, and pray Heaven grant you 
modesty and humility.” 

Then again I thought: 

‘‘ Well, after all, I am a man — thirteen stone 
of it. I have power and health and a great 
love for her. Mayhap I am hideous to look 
upon, but that is not my fault; and surely I 
would be well-looking if I could. Anyhow, I 
am straight-limbed and not unwholesome, 
and she need look at me only sometimes. I 
would kiss her only in the dark and on our 
birthdays.” 

Then in another thought I would steady my- 
self and reflect: 

“ You know her to be the most charming 
lady in the world, and yet you reckon you are 
worthy to be her husband, for that is what it all 
means. Why, the conceit is unparalleled. She 
has grace and modesty, spirit and rare beauty; 
she is the essence of the feminine; and you — you 
are a great bear. Cast your eyes at a lesser, you 


298 


A LADY’S HONOR 


fool, and at that be thankful; for she is not for 
such as you.” 

Katherine indeed, as I have said, was always 
kind to me, but in a quiet, simple fashion in 
which there seemed no shadow of any quality 
but friendship. This very kindness made be- 
tween us, according to my impression, a sort of 
chill barrier which would have been but temper- 
ate and satisfactory in a friendship, yet which, 
my feelings being what they were, provided me 
with more food for reflection than comfort. 

Withal it was a very pleasant situation in 
life, for we spent many hours together in the 
garden, which was wooded and wild, and not 
cut into shapes and fancies after the modern 
fashion. We were companions — happy to talk 
or be quiet as our moods suggested. Upon the 
times she spent with the Count, when I was 
not present, I made a point of never reflecting. 

Once I remember on a hot afternoon, as we 
sat together under a tree, she fell into a sleep. 
By and by her hand slid over her chair. I think 
that morning I must have been reading of heroic 
deeds in poetry, for my hand slipped too, and 
drifted in among her fingers, and held them as 
one might hold a skein of silk. To touch so 
small a fragment of her, and that so lightly, 


SHE DECIDES 


299 

might not to some minds appear a great deal, 
but I found it an infinite matter to me. 

Soon she awoke and looked round wonder- 
ingly; she noticed our fingers, but for the mo- 
ment she did not withdraw her own. 

“ What are you doing with your hand? ” she 
asked; “ you are aware that this is not according 
to the law.” 

“ Well, anyhow,” said I, “ it is a misde- 
meanor, not, I hope, an offense.” 

That is the man’s view,” said she. 

“ I wish I might know the lady’s view,” said I. 

For a woman to confess her thoughts,” she 
remarked, is a custom not honored in the ob- 
servance.” Yet still she did not withdraw her 
hand — and her fingers lay lightly in mine, like 
a spray of pink roses. 

“ It is not often you are so kind to me,” 
said I. 

At this mistaken speech she withdrew her 
fingers with a start, as she might have snatched 
them from cold water. 

Adam, my dear boy,” she said, where 
are your manners? Surely you should be as 
good friends .without touching me.” 

Yes, I suppose so,” said I, feeling at once 
the chill wind of the barrier. 


20 


300 


A LADY’S HONOR 


“ Unless indeed,” she added, “ you like me 
better for it.” 

I felt cheered. I should never have 
thought of telling you,” I said. 

“ Anyway, it is very silly,” she said. 

Do tell me why,” I asked. 

Oh you stupid boy, it is perfectly clear.” 

‘‘ Then it can be no trouble for you to ex- 
plain.” 

“ It is needless to point the evident.” 

“ It is idle to refuse to.” 

“ Well then,” she said, '' you are not so 
nicely behaved as formerly; not so temperate, 
so subdued. Can you tell me why your spirit is 
so changed? ” 

‘‘Will you take the responsibility if I do?” 
I asked. 

“ Certainly not,” she answered promptly. 

“ Then Td better not.” 

“ All the same,” she repeated, “ you may tell 
me the reason if you wish.” 

“You may know,” I answered, “that the 
reason to you is evident — but you do not know 
how charming it is to me.” 

“ Am I acquainted with the reason? ” she 
asked. 

“Fairly well,” I replied. “You know in 


SHE DECIDES 


301 


your way, I in mine; both are different and yet 
the same.” 

“ There is no reason in what you say,” said 

she. 

“Yet I like to say it,” said I. 

“ Oh well,” she said petulantly, “ it does not 
harm me — but it is tiresome to endure.” 

“ At least,” said I, “ you might say whether 
you complain that I am so altered.” 

“ You are an odd boy, Adam,” said she, 
“ One day you are as shy as if you were, well — 
in love with somebody. Now, which is another 
time, your behavior is such that I imagine you 
suspect me of being a woman. I warn you to 
be careful how you proceed.” 

“Then surely you complain?” I suggested. 

“ As long as possible,” said she, “ I avoid 
extreme measures.” 

“ Should I — do you think — prepare for the 
worst? ” I asked. 

“ As a general rule, I should call that a wise 
proceeding,” said she, “ so that,” she added, “ if 
by any fortune the best should happen, you are 
the better off.” 

The barrier, I thought, as together we 
walked back to the house that day, was not per- 
haps quite so chill as heretofore. 


302 


A LADY’S HONOR 


The Count and myself, as I have said, were 
not on this subject communicative, and he took 
a deal of hard horse exercise whilst I was read- 
ing or digging at home. One day I would, in 
an extravagant, plumed way rather fancy my 
luck, and the next day I could see it all fall 
shooting awide like a thread of broken beads. 

At last somehow the idea came upon me 
that she was in the course of choosing between 
us, and that she was putting us, like horses, 
through our paces. This thought strung me 
still further into nervousness, so that I could 
barely glance at the Count without the reflec- 
tion that his chances were infinitely better 
than mine; nor could I glance at my cousin 
without the idea that I was in a course of depre- 
ciation in her mind. It was as if she were run- 
ning us both through the table of our disad- 
vantages, and the one who distinguished him- 
self might win; unless indeed she rejected us 
both as dunces. And at this critical time it 
required no critic to inform me that it was all 
the world to a ball of tape against my hopes of 
success. 

Yet the Count spoke to me in a strange way 
one day when we left together. He was very 
grave and serious as he turned to me. 


SHE DECIDES 


303 

“ Boy,” he said, “ I am beginning to fear 
that the race is still for the young.” 

“ The race, sir? ” I queried, puzzled. 

‘‘You ingenuous beggar,” said he, “ can you 
not see that the lady likes you? ” 

“ I think you would not joke to me in this 
matter,” said I, “ if you knew how deeply I am 
concerned.” 

“ My dear boy, I do not joke,” he answered; 
“ you have eyes and see not, and for that I hon- 
or you — as I fancy too does the lady.” And I 
left him in great confusion of mind. 

In fact, as the conversation shaped itself in 
my ideas, it seemed in its enormity to surpass 
the impossible, and to attain to the ludicrous. I 
thought I would tell it to Katherine, and on the 
next occasion I did this straight away. 

“ Kate,” said I cheerfully, “ the Count has 
made me his confidant.” 

“ Indeed,” she answered, smiling, “ and am 
I concerned? ” 

“ My complaint is that seriously you are 
not,” I answered. 

“ Then,” said she, “ I think you ought not 
to tell me.” 

“ It is my own concern simply,” said I. 

“ Then,” said she, “ I am all interest.” 


304 


A LADY’S HONOR 


He said to me,” I answered, “ that the race 
is for the young, and that had I eyes I might 
I see that the lady liked me.” 

“ Oh,” said she slowly; “is that the story? 
And what have you yourself to say to that? ” 

“ If,” said I, “ I were so inflated as to think 
it might be possible, I would never have dared 
tell you this. There is no offense, because I 
know that it is not so — and I should have 
thanked you at many times for having so gently 
told me that. It is because I know that it is im- 
possible that I make no question of repeating. 
I have reckoned all points against me — and I 
find I have no chance.” 

“ At least you are candid,” said she, and a 
little smile, I suppose of humor, came into her 
lips and broke them into kindness. 

“ Nevertheless,” I added, “ you will ac- 
knowledge that when one wants something in 
a way, for the telling of which there can be no 
expression, to stand by and whistle tunes is a 
poor employment.” 

“ Yes,” she said musingly, “ I almost fancy 
I can see myself in that position, and thinking 
as you do.” 

“ One comfort will for ever remain to me,” I 
continued. “ Always I can in my fancy see you 


SHE DECIDES 


305 


in a place at my side; always in my fancy I can 
conjure your lips into tenderness and your eyes 
into smiles; in my fancy I can even see you look 
at me in a way which no man can ever mistake. 
Sleeping and waking I may talk to you; yes, and 
what is more, I can make the words come from 
your lips as I would wish them to.” 

'' Do you always,” she said (I thought with 
some gentleness), do you always at the pres- 
ent wish them to be different from what I make 
them? ” 

X 

I suppose,” I said, “ that I have my de- 
serts.” 

“ And so it is,” she asked, that my ghost is' 
far more charming than myself? ” 

“ They are inseparable,” said I. Yet, alas! 
for the awakening when I know that the dream 
is done, and I drop the ashes through my 
fingers, and know that you — real, fragrant, and 
essential — are away from me and occupied other- 
wise.” 

Otherwise occupied,” she repeated; what 
do you mean by that? ” 

Oh,” I returned, with, I hope, conviction 
in my voice; I am a selfish beast — that is all.” 

“ Is it,” she asked, ‘‘ that I am not polite to 
you? are you not always made welcome when 


3o6 


A LADY’S HONOR 


you come? I am sorry you are not happy in my 
company: perhaps you will say I do not pet you; 
well, ril not begin it.” 

“ You know,” I broke in, “ that it is none of 
these things.” 

“ Well,” she answered, the Count de la 
Torre says I like you. Why, there is no mystery 
about that. I could tell you so myself if you 
do not know already. If I did not, why should 
I eat cakes with you in my garden? I like you 
— I say so — and there’s an end to it.” 

Here I left her and wondered if she, being so 
far cleverer than I, was merely teasing me. 

Perhaps I do not pet you; well, I’ll not begin 
it.” Did she mean that I might? But there’s 
an end to it ” — that on the other hand seemed 
to point that I might go forward no further than 
the present way. 

On looking back I cannot see in it a cause, 
but the firm outcome of this small-talk was a 
resolution on my part to finally have it out with 
my cousin. The phrase, ‘‘ and there’s an end 
to it,” loitered in my memory. Yet I still sus- 
pected that I could not go to her straight and 
have the matter cleared, because, if her mood 
and my opportunity were either of them not of 
the cardinal kind, why, whatever small chance 


SHE DECIDES 


307 

I might hold, would surely fall out like a weight 
through a paper bag. 

At this time, furthermore, the Count seemed 
in some way to recover his spirits; and this I 
could only feel was due to his receiving at the 
lady’s hands some favor more in accordance 
with his desires than heretofore. Twice — which 
for him was most unusual, when I spoke to him 
— I caught him gently smiling, not to himself 
like a fool, but as a man in love might when the 
fall of a word suggests some thought which 
inspirits him. Once I thought I would chal- 
lenge his advancement, so I remarked: 

“ I see you are lately very happy. Is it your 
opinion still that the race is always to the 
young? ” 

I do not remember,” said he, “ that I have 
ever changed my mind. Yet I am not inexo- 
rable. I might easily be tempted in this case to 
adapt my principles, and in that for me there 
would be nothing to regret.” 

“ Honestly, I am afraid I cannot rejoice in 
your thanksgiving,” said I. 

“ The last laugh is the longer, do you not 
say? ” said he. 

The single result of all this, to my mind, was 
to show me clearly that I had got to make a 


3o8 


A LADY’S HONOR 


great effort towards decision, or for ever hold 
my peace. Opportunity and moods and the 
rest of my armory of calculation must go hang. 
Surely, I told myself, she had made her choice 
between us long since. Here I had been rumi- 
nating, deliberating, meditating, when I should 
have struck straight in and found, if not my hap- 
piness, why, at least an honorable exile. 

So immediately after breakfast on the fol- 
lowing morning I rode over to my cousin’s door. 
It was long before my usual calling hour, and I 
knew she would not expect me; but then, I ar- 
gued, the business was unusual. I had always 
the permission to go into the garden by the 
wicket gate without the formalities of the hall. 
I walked slowly through the garden with many 
thoughts alternately starry and gloomy shooting 
through my head. For some time I could not 
find her, and I thought she must be in the house. 
Then I came upon her suddenly. She was sit- 
ting on a bench at the edge of a pond, and her 
sleeves were turned to far above her elbows,- so 
that I fancy she had been dipping her wrists in 
the pond and reaching for lilies. In her hand 
she held her shoe, which she was shaking free 
from stones; her stockinged foot was crossed 
and daintily poised over the mud and the gravel. 


SHE DECIDES 


309 


Men, it is said, are too careless to notice a lady’s 
raiment, but for my single self I know I had 
always a very clear memory for all that Kath- 
erine carried upon her shoulders. Here she was 
wearing a simple blue cotton gown, with a shin- 
ing silver belt at her waist, and some pointed 
lace falling from her throat. Her hat was be- 
side her on the seat with her mittens, and 
her hair was plainly dressed, and looked very 
simple and wholesome. I observed, too, that 
a crimson spider was figured in silk upon her 
ankle. 

As she noticed me, she gave a little start and 
a faint scream, and a flush shot over her face. 
She made a dive for her foot with her shoe, but, 
missing, her shoe tumbled down a slope on to 
the grass beyond her reach. She bit her lip and 
looked up at me. 

Why do you stand there like a great 
goose?” she cried; “I wish you would take 
yourself off.” 

This nettled me; I leisurely recovered the • 
shoe and then stood back from her, and she — 
who would have died rather than touch the 
mud with her stocking — was helpless as a nun 
before a brigand of Italy. (It was a very 
pretty shoe, I recollect, bronze and gold, with 


310 


A LADY’S HONOR 


a red silk lining — an article which appealed 
to me as the daintiest suggestion of the 
feminine.) 

“ Say you are sorry,” said I, standing back 
and holding aloft the shoe. 

“ Do you imagine I am afraid of a man? ” 
said she with a fine scorn. 

“ I admit I am always nervous before a 
widow,” said I. 

Will you give up my shoe? ” she said at 
last with indignation. 

“Yes,” said I; “but not until you have 
undertaken to — have promised to — ” (I had 
meant to have added “ forgive me,” but before 
I could reckon the tremendous meaning of the 
words I had completed the sentence otherwise) 
— “ to marry me,” I added — and the fat was in 
the fire. 

To my unspeakable astonishment she took 
my answer quite quietly, doubtless treating the 
affair as a joke, whilst I stood before her, the 
shoe trembling aloft in my hand, and I am sure 
my face burning with blushes, for I could not 
look into her eyes. 

“ What shall you do if I refuse? ” she asked 
in a moment. 

“ Toss it into the center of the pond,” I 


SHE DECIDES 


311 

answered promptly, but all the same in extreme 
tremulation. 

“ And it is the only shoe I have any regard 
at all for,” she returned beseechingly. 

“ Then — then please tell me what you will 
do? ” I replied in what I meant to be a brave 
voice. 

I think,” she said, I think, Adam — I will 
save it.” 

And with the shoe in my hand I sat at her 
side. 


( 1 ) 


THE END 


f 


Vi 


4 









APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. 


PUBLISHED MONTHLY. 

i2mo. Cloth, $1.00; paper 50 cents. 


316. A Lady’s Honour. By Bass 
Blake. 

315. Tales About Temperaments. By 
John Oliver Hobbes. 

314. The Way of a Man. By Morlbt 

l^OBERTS 

313. The Credit of the County. By 
W. E. Norris. 

312. A Welsh Witch. By Allen Raine. 
311. T’Bacca Queen. By T. Wilson 
Wilson. 

310. Drewitt’s Dream. ByW. L.Alden. 
309. Love in Its Tenderness. By J. R. 
A TT'K'RN' 

308. A Fool’s Year. By E. H. Cooper. 
307. Love’s Itinerary. By J. C. Snaith. 
306. The Fortunes of Christina M‘Nab. 

By S. Macnaughtan. 

305. The Most Famous Loba. By 
Nellie K. Blissett. 

304. The Devastators. By Ada Cam- 
bridge. 

303. When Love Flies Out o’ the Win- 
dow. By Leonard Merrick. 
302. A Woman Alone. By Mrs. W. K. 
Clifford. 

301. Four-Leaved Clover. By Max- 
well Gray. 

300. The Seal of Silence. By Arthur 

R. CONDER. 

299. From the Unsounded Sea. By 
Nellie K. Blissett. 

298. The Mystery of the Clasped Hands. 
By Guy Boothby. 

297. The Claim Jumpers. By Stewart 
Edward White. 

296. A Royal Exchange. By J. Mac- 
Laren Cobban. 

295. A Hero in Homespun. By William 
E. Barton. 

294. My Indian Queen. By Guy 
Boothby. 

293. Path and Goal. By Ada Cam- 
bridge. 

292. King Stork of the Netherlands. 
By Albert Lee. 

291. A Private Chivalry. By Francis 

290. The Flower of the Flock. By W. 
E. Norris. 

289. The Jay-Hawkers. By Adela E. 
Orpen. 

283. Brown of Lost River. By Mary 
E. Stickney. 

287. The Last Sentence. By Maxwell 
Gray, 


286. The Minister’s Guest. By Isabel 
Smith. 

285. The Seafarers. By John Bloun- 
delle-Burton. 

284. The Lunatic at Large. By J. 

Storer Clouston. 

283. Garthowen. By Allen Rains. 
282. The Immortal Garland. By Anna 
Robeson Brown. 

281. Mirry-Ann. By Norma Lori- 

MER. 

280. A Maker of Nations. By Guy 
Boothby. 

279. The Gentleman Pensioner. By 

A T TS'lT'tJTi T . VIP 

278. The World’s *Mercy. By Max- 
Gray 

277. The Story of Ronald Kestrel. By 
A. J. Dawson. 

276. A Comer of the West. By Edith 
Henrietta Fowler. 

275. The Idol of the Blind. By T. 
Gallon. 

274. A Voyage at Anchor, By W. 
Clark Russell. 

273. The Heiress of the Season. By Sir 
William Magnay, Bart. 

272. A Bitter Heritage. By John 
Bloundelle-Burton. 

271. Lady Barbarity. By J. C. Snaith. 
270. The Strange Story of Hester 
Wynne. By G. Colmore, 

269. Dr. Nikola’s Experiment. By 
Guy Boothby. 

268. The Game and the Candle. By 
Rhoda Broughton. 

267. The Kingdom of Hate. By T. 
Gallon. 

266. A Cosmopolitan Comedy. By 
Anna Robeson Brown. 

265. Fortune’s my Foe. By John 
Bloundelle-Burton. 

264. Madame Iz^n. By Mrs. Camp- 
bell-Praed. 

263. Pursued by the Law. By J. Mac- 
Laren Cobban. 

262. Paul Carah, Coraishman. By 

Charles Lee. 

261. Pharos, the Egyptian. By Guy 
Boothby. 

260. By Berwen Banks. By Allen 
Raine. 

259. The Procession of Life. By Hor- 
ace A. Vachell. 

258. Ricroft of Witheus. By Halli- 
well Sutcliffe. 


APPLETONS’ TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY.— 


257. The Knight of the Golden Chain. 

By R. D. Chetwode. 

256. A Writer of Books. By G. Paston. 
^5. The Key of the Holy House. By 
Albert Lee. 

254. Belinda— and Some Others. By 
Ethel Maude. 

2.53. The Impediment. By Dorothea 
Gerard. 

252. Concerning Isabel Carnaby. By 
Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler. 
251. The Scourge of God. By J. 

Bloundelle Burton. 

250. The Widower. By W. E. Nor- 
ris. 

249. The Gospel Writ in Steel. By Ar- 
thur Paterson. 

248. The Lust of Hate. By G. Boothby. 
247. Dicky Monteith. By T. Gallon. 
246. The Q^ueen’s Cup. By G. A. IIenty. 
245. The Looms of Time. By ilrs. U. 
Fraser. 

244. The Millionaires. By F. F. Moore. 
243. John of Strathbourne. By It. D. 
Chetwode. 

242. Materfamilias. By A. Cambridge. 
241. Torn Sails. By A. Raine. 

240. A Trooper of the Empress. By C. 
Ross. 

239. The Lake of Wine. By B. Capes. 
238. The Incidental Bishop. By G. 

237. A Forgotten Sin. By D. Gerard. 
236. This Little World. By D. C. Mur- 
ray. 

235. A Passionate Pilgrim. By P. 
White. 

234. A Prince of Mischance. ByT. Gal- 
lon. 

233. A Fiery Ordeal. By Tasma. 

232. Sunset. By B. Whitby. 

231. Sweethearts and Friends. By M. 
Gray. 

230. The Freedom of Henry Meredyth. 
By M. Hamilton. 

229. Miss Providence. By D. Gerard. 
228. God’s Foundling. By A. J. Daw- 
son. 

227. The Clash of Arms. By J. Bloun- 
delle-Burton. 

226. Fortune’s Footballs. By G. B. 
Burgin. 

225. A Soldier of Manhattan. By J. A. 
Altsheler 

224. Mifanwy : A Welsh Singer. By A. 
Raine. 

223. His Majesty’s Greatest Subject. By 
S. S. Thorburn 

222. A Colonial Free-Lance. By C. C. 
Kotchkis^ 

221. The Folly of Pen Harrington. By 
J. Sturgis. 

220. Nulma. By Mrs. Campbell-Praed. 
219. Dear taustina. By It. Broughton. 


218. Marietta’s Marriage. By W. E. 
Norris. 

217. Fierceheart, the Soldier. By J. C. 
Snaith. 

216. The Sun of Saratoga. By J. A. 

At. tstt ELER 

215. The Beautifui White Devil. By G. 
Boothby. 

214. A Galahad of the Creeks. By S. L. 
Yeats. 

213. A Spotless Reputation. By D. 
Gerard. 

212. Perfection City. By Mrs. Orpen. 
211. A Pinchbeck Goddess. By Mrs. J. 

M. Fleming (A. M. Kipling). 

210. Tatterley. By T. Gallon. 

209. Arrested. By E. Stuart. 

208. The Career of Candida. By G. 
Paston. 

2C7. McLeod of the Camerons. By M. 
Hamilton. 

206. Fellow Travellers. By G. Travers. 
205. With Fortune Made. By V. Cher- 

BULIEZ. 

204. Master Aidick, Buccaneer. By F. 

H OnQT'ITT T 4Y 

203. The Intriguers. By J. D. Barry. 
202. The Idol-Maker. By A. Sergeant. 
201. A Court Intrigue. By B. Thompson. 
200. Denounced. By J. Bloundblle- 
Burton. 

199. The King’s Revenge. By C. Bray. 
198. An Outcast of the Islands. By J. 
Conrad. 

197. Dr. Nikola. By G. Boothby. 

196. A Humble Enterprise. By A. Cam- 
bridge. 

195. The Riddle Ring. By J. McCar- 
thy. 

194. The Madonna of a Day. By L. 
Dougall. 

193. The Picture of Las Cruces. By C. 
Reid. 

192. A Winning Hazard. By Mrs. 
Alexander. 

191. The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt. 
By A. Morrison. 

190. The Dancer in Yellow. By W. E. 
Norris. 

189. A Flash of Summer. By Mrs. W. 
K. Clifford. 

188. Mistress Dorothy Marvin. By J. C. 
Snaith. 

187. In the Day of Adversity. By J. 

Blo undelle-Burton . 

186. The Wrong Man. By D. Gerard. 
185. The Lost Stradivarius. By J. M. 
Falkner. 

184. Successors to the Title. By Mrs. L. 

B. W ALFORD. 

183. A Self-Denying Ordinance. By M. 
Hamilton. 

182. The Desire of the Moth. By C. 
Vane. 


I 


SEP 27 1902 

I' . • 

1 COP> oil. lOCAT.DIV. 
» SEP. 27 1902 


OCT. 1 m2 


t « 


I 



t 





'W 


f 


I 



I k 




